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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


^    W    W" 


Ex  Libris 
ISAAC   FOOT 


WHAT   OF 
THE  NIGHT? 


AND   OTHER    SKETCHES. 


By 


MAY    BELL. 


I        U        •><)<■        II         I 


London : 

ARTHUR    H.    STOCKWELL, 

29,  LuDGATE  Hill,   E.G.   4. 


e^ ^-4S^^Jb:^^.-«==^ 


CONTENTS. 


Britannia  Goes  to  War 


The  Culprit 


12 


What  of  the  Night 


28 


Bluebeard  :     An  Old  Tale  Re-told 


43 


The  Strange  Physician  ... 


66 


Marah 


■•  •••  •••  ••• 


83 


ALL   RIGHTS 

(Dranialic  and  olhenvise) 
RESERVED. 


BRITANNIA  GOES  TO  WAR. 


PERSONS : 

MALE:    PRUSSIA 

BELGIUM  (a  bo}f) 

SCOTLAND 

INDIA 

A  MOSLEM 

A  BRITISH  GENERAL 


FEMALE:    BRITANNIA 
AUSTRIA 
IRELAND 
CANADA 
AUSTRALIA 
NEW  ZEALAND 
NEWFOUNDLAND 
EGYPT 
CEYLON 
SOUTH   AFRICA 
BRITISH  TROOPS,  WITH  AMBULANCE  CORPS,  eic. 


BRITANNIA  GOES  TO  WAR. 


The  curtain  rises  on  Prussia,  a  hulking  swaggering  figure, 
splendidly  uniformed,  brooding  alone. 


Prussia  :  The  hour  has  come.  Long  have  I  worked  and 
waited  for  this  day,  the  day  when  I  might  stir  up  strife 
and  come  into  mine  own  as  conquerer  of  Europe — ay  ! 
of  the  world. 

It  is  no  mean  nor  petty  ambition  that  swells  my  breast. 
I  will  conquer  the  world  ;  crush,  and  grind  it  to  powder, 
for  its  own  ultimate  good.  I  will  trample  earth's  people 
in  the  dust  only  that  I  may  raise  them  up  to  my  standard 
of  right,  my  ideal  of  what  culture  should  be. 

For  2,000  years  Europe  has  lain  under  a  spell.  We 
have  bred  up  weaklings,  we  have  pampered  infirmities, 
we  have  allowed  women  and  children  to  creep  into  the 
notice  of  our  high  thinkers,  and  stooped  from  our  vast 
designs  to  give  help  to  cripples. 

All  this  must  change.  Instead  of  weakness  we  must 
breed  strength.  We  must  trample  out  the  weak,  the 
maimed,  and  the  suffering,  that  these  things  may  cease 
on  the  earth.  Might  and  strength,  and  power  over  tiie 
things  that  we  can  see  and  handle,  these  are  all  that  it  is 
worth  while  to  have. 

Women  must  go  back  to  the  slavehood  Nature  meant 
for  them.  I  could  break  a  woman  as  I  could  break  a  stick. 
Why  should  I  not  ? 

Might  is  right,  and  power  is  to  the  strong.  Tliat  must 
be  remembered.  And  so,  only  so,  shall  we  breed  up  a 
race  of  Supermen  :  triumphant,  magnificent  brutes, 
ranging    where     they    will  ;      trampHng    and     lusting 


6  WHAT   OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

unrestrained,  with  all  the  glory  of  the  earth  focussed 
upon  them ;  and  so  this  material  world  shall  have 
reached  its  comsummation.  And  I,  Germany,  am  the 
Chosen  of  God  to  point  out  this  way  ! 

My  day  has  dawned — that  day  that  I  have  worked  for, 
planned  for  :  scheming  in  the  air  like  an  eagle,  and 
working  underground  with  the  skill  and  cunning  of  a 
mole.  Now  I  am  ready.  I  will  put  all  to  the  test. 
World-power  or  downfall !  .  .  .     Austria  ! 

Enter  Austria,  a  female  figure  with  a  double  eagle  on  her  head). 

Austria  :         Did  you  call  me,  brother  ? 

Prussia  :  I  did.  Go  forth  and  stir  up  war.  I  would  con- 
quer the  world. 

Austria  :  I  will,  brother.  I  will  knock  down,  Servia  who 
is  small  and  cannot  hurt  me.  But  if  Russia,  who  is  kin 
to  Servia,  should  come  to  avenge  her  little  relation,  will 
you  protect  me  ? 

Prussia  :  Yes,  yes.  You  need  have  no  fears.  Go,  stir  me  up 
strife.     Go  ! 

(Austria  curtseys  and  goes  out  to  the  east). 

Prussia  :         (reflectively  :)    Now  will  I  overthrow  France. 

(He  turns  to  go  out  westward,  but  tinds  Belgium,  a  boy  in 

blouse  and  sabots,  blocking  his  path.) 

Prussia  :  Hallo  !  So  you  are  there.  I  am  on  my  way  to 
overrun  your  neighbour,  but  I  won't  do  any  harm  to  you 
if  you  let  me  pass. 

Belgium  :        I  will  not  let  you  pass. 

Prussia  .•  (With  contemptuous  astonishment.)  What  ? 
Don't  be  a  fool,  boy.  What  is  your  neiglibour  to  you  ? 
She  is  bigger  than  you  are.  Let  her  fight  her  own  battles. 
Give  me  room  to  pass. 

Belgium  :        I  will  not  let  you  pass. 

Prussia :  Do  as  I  bid,  or  I  will  break  you  in  pieces  and 
cast  you  out  like  refuse.  My  wrath  is  very  terrible. 
Beware  of  it  ! 

Belgium  :  (Going  up  to  him  and  producing  a  slip  of  paper) 
You  can't  hurt  me.  You  promised  me  that  you  wouldn't 
hurt  me,  but  would  be  my  friend.  Look  there.  You 
signed  that  paper  yourself. 

Prussia  :        Bah  !  a  scrap  of  paper. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  7 

(He  takes  it,  looks  at  it  contemptoiisly,  and  tears  it  up.) 
Belgium  :        That  was  your  pledged  word  ! 
Prussia  :         Pledges  are  nothing  when  a  strong  man  is  on  the 
road  to  conquest.     My  philosophers  have  taught  me  that. 
Belgium  :       Then  I'll  trust   in  the  God  we   used  to   have 

before  your  philosophers  forgot  him  ! 
Prussia  :         Stop  your   cackle  !      (Seizes    Belgium    by   the 

collar  and  shakes  him.)     Will  you  let  me  pass  ? 
Belgium  :        No,  I  will  not  !     (Calls  :)    France,  arm  yourself  ! 

I  will  hold  the  bully  while  you  make  ready. 
(Flings  his  arms  round  Prussia's  waist  and  tries  to  wrestle 
with  him.     Prussia  roughly  loosens  his  arms  and  holds  them.) 
Prussia  :         Fool,  to  pit  your  infantile  strength  against  mine  ! 

For  the  last  time,  will  you  let  me  go  through  ? 
Belgium  :        No  !     No  !     No  ! 

(He  struggles  against  Prussia,  who  exerts  all  his  brutal,  full- 
grown  strength,    shaking   the  boy  unmercifully,    and  finally 
getting  him  down  and  beating  his  head  on  the  ground.) 
Belgium  :       (Calls   in    the   midst    of    struggling)      England, 
England  !    I  am  in  terrible  trouble  !    Help  me,  England  ! 
Prussia  :   (With  a  scornful  laugh)     You'll  get  no  help  !     You 
are  too.  small  to   be  worth  bothering  about.     England 
shall  watch  you  being  crushed  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
(He  pulls  the  boy  up  as  roughly  as  he  bore  him  dowui,  and 
forces  him  out  with  every  kind  of  merciless  ill-usage.) 
Belgium  :       (Desperately,  as  they  go  out)    England  !     Eng- 
land !     Help,  oh,  help  ! 
(The  stage  is  empty.     From  behind,  strains  of  the  Mai  seillaise 
and  the  Russian  National  Anthem  are  heard  through  shouting 
and  the  din  of  battle.     Now  and  again  comes  Belgium's  cries 
for  help. 

(Britannia  enters  from  the  north,  her  head  erect,  and  a  sword 
at  her  side.) 
Britannia  :       Hark  ! 

(While  she  listens  the  din  continues,  but  ceases  when   she 
begins  to  speak.) 

'Tis  the  noise  of  battle.  Through  the  peaceful  commerce 
of  Europe,  vicious  pride  hath  upraised  his  head  :  pride 
in  brute  strength  and  material  power  and  all  the 
primitive  violence  that  we  have  striven  for  centuries  to 


8  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

assuage.     We  have  striven  to  be  men,  not  brutes,  and 

with  all  our  weakness  and  failings,  we  still  are,  and  will 

be,  men. 

Now  must  I  unsheathe  my  sword. 

(She  hesitates  with  her  hand  on  the  hilt.) 

The  ground  of  Europe  is  wet  with  blood,  and  the  sky 

black  with  suffering.  Must  I  drag  my  children  into  this  ? 
(From  the  distance  comes  a  cry  of  "  Help,  England,  help  ! " 
Britannia  draws  her  sword  and  holds  it  high.) 

Tis  done.     Go  to  your  deaths,  my  children.     When  the 

helpless  call,  we  hear  ! 
(From  the  north  comes  in  Scotland,  as  a  strange  and  ancient 
Highlander.     He  takes  Britannia's  hand  in  both  of  his,  and 
shakes  it.) 
Scotland  :       Sister,    when   we    were   rivals,   neither   could 

conquer  the  other.     Now  we  are  as  much  at  one  as  the 

two  eyes  in  one  head. 
(Ireland,  a  graceful  girl  in  veiling  green  draperies,  with  large, 
dark   eyes,    runs   in   from   the   left,    kneeling  and  clasping 
Britannia's  knees.) 
Ireland  :        Sister,  my  darling,  we  were  all  but  quarrelling 

imtil  this  hour  came.     But  you  know  that  I  am  all  yours 

when  there  is  trouble  to  be  faced,  for  my  heart  is  warm 

as  my  lips  are  quick. 
Britannia  :       Little  sister  of   the  troubled  land  !     O  sweet 

and  dim-eyed  httle  sister  ! 
(Tenderly  raises  Ireland,  who  flings  her  arms  around  her  and 
kisses    her   impulsively.      The    three   stand    together   in  a 
corner  of  the  stage.) 
Scotland  :        Hark,  they  come  ! 
Britannia  :       The  lads  who  have  played  on  our  fields  and 

mountains  are  going  to  die. 
Ireland  :         Their  mothers,  their  sweethearts  and  their  wives 

are  sending  them. 
(From  the  distance  come  strains  of  "  It's  a  long,  long  way  to 
Tipperary,"  which   grow  louder  as  troops  in   khaki    come 
in  from  the  north  singing  it.) 
Officer  in  Charge  :     Halt  !      Right  Wheel  !      To  Belgium's 

Help! 
(Troops  march  out  to  the  west,  and  go  through  in  a  long 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  9 

procession  singing  "  Tipperary,"  which  they  vary  now  and 
then  by  "  Have  a  banana,"  and  an  occasional  jocose  remark.) 
Soldiers  :        Don't  wait  up  for  me  if  I'm  late  for  supper  ! 
What  price  a  first  class  return  to  Berlin  ? 
Don't  knock  the  old  Kaiser's  head  off  till  we  get  there  ! 
(They  are  followed  by  the  ambulance  corps,  with  stretcher- 
bearers,  etc.     When  all  have  gone,   and   "Tipperary"  has 
died  away)  : 

Britannia       (Coming  forward  to  the  centre)  :     These  are  not 
all.     From  the  ends  of  the  earth  I  hear  them  stirring. 
My  children  of  the  far  countries  have  heard  my  call  and 
are  coming  to  my  aid.     Hark  to  the  tramp  of  great  armies 
marching  by  ! 
(Ireland  and  Scotland  join  Britannia.     Canada  comes  in  as  a 
splendid  young  woman.     She  is  followed  by  a  Red  Indian 
bowed  under  a  great  sack  of  fruit  and  produce.) 
Canada :  Hail,    Mother !     I    am    Canada,    richest    and 

eldest  of  thy  daughters.  I  have  sent  armies  at  thy  call, 
and  lest  thou  shouldst  hunger  I  have  brought  thee  a 
million  sacks  of  grain  from  my  wheatfields,  with  other 
gifts  too  numerous  to  mention.  For  I  am  thy  eldest 
daughter.  Mother. 
Britannia :  Well  hast  thou  done,  O  Canada.  Take  thy 
place  beside  us. 

(Enter  Australia)  : 
Australia  :  Mother,  I  have  heard  thy  call  from  overseas, 
in  the  island  where  I  dwell  under  the  seven  stars.  We 
are  full  of  business  in  the  new  countries.  There  are 
deserts  to  be  planted,  flocks  to  be  tended,  children  to  be 
reared.  But,  at  thy  call,  all  other  calls  are  silenced. 
I  have  brought  thee  a  million  carcases  of  sheep  ;  I  have 
sent  thee  my  navy  and  my  ftghting  men,  and  I  will  plant 
thy  flag  on  the  little  islands  round  about. 
Britannia  :       We  thank  thee,  Australia. 

(Enter  New  Zealand.) 
New  Zealand:  Hail,  Mother  !     These  many  years  I  have  lain 
quietly,  watching  my  own  growth.     Now,  take  my  sons. 
They  are  few,  and  we  shall  miss  them  ;  but  all  we  have 
is  thine. 
Britannia  :       We  thank  thee,  New  Zealand. 


10  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

(Enter  Newfoundland.) 

Newfoundland:  I  am  Newfoundland.     I  have  brought  tliee  of 
my  fish,  and  am  also  come  to  offer  my  services. 

Britannia  :       We  thank  thee,  Newfoundland. 

(Enter  India,  a  richly  dressed  native  Prince.) 

India  :  Hail,  Empress  !     I  come  from  that  far  country 

that  is  Queen  of  tlie  East,  older  than  history,  rich  beyond 
knowledge.  I  come  to  offer  you  all  that  my  people  have, 
their  armies,  their  horses,  their  wealth,  and  even  the 
jewels  that  they  wear. 

Britannia  :       Rise,  India,  who  hast  also  become  my  son. 
(Enter  three  others,  a  Moslem,  Egypt,  and  Ceylon.) 

Moslem :  I  come  to  offer  the  allegiance  of  all  the  Moslems 

over  whom  you  rule. 

Egypt :  I  bring  the  loyalty  of  Egypt. 

Ceylon  :  And  I  the  fealty  of  Ceylon. 

Britannia  :  I  thank  yon  again,  and  yet  again.  Well  have  ye 
rallied  to  my  aid,  O  children  ;  and  I  am  moved  almost 
beyond  speaking.  But  surely  there  is  one  still  missing. 
Does  South  Africa  lag  behind  ? 

Australia  :     She  does  but  tarry  to  make  peace  in  her  own 
household,     This  I  know,  for  I  passed  her  on  my  way. 
(Enter  South  Africa. 

South  Africa:  Great  Motherland,  I  come  !  If  I  have  seemed 
to  linger  it  was  because  thy  motherhood  is  yet  half  new 
to  me,  and  my  bosom  is  still  rent  with  the  pangs  that 
have  made  me  one.  But  the  oath  that  I  have  sworn  to 
thee  I  will  keep.  I  am  bringing  thee  mealies,  fruit,  and 
eggs,  such  as  I  have,  and  my  sword— this  new  sword 
that  I  have  forged,  awaits  thy  bidding, 

Britannia  :  I  need  thy  sword.  South  Africa.  I  have  work 
for  thee  to  do  in  a  land  of  drought  and  desert,  full  of 
hardships  and  without  glory. 
South  Africa  :  It  is  no  light  task 'for  my  young  shoulders,  and 
I  do  not  yet  see  the  end  thereof.  But  because  it  is  thy 
word,  O  Mother,  the  order  shall  be  obeyed.  So  soon  as 
I  have  stilled  the  tumult  in  mine  own  house  I  will  do  thy 
bidding,  yea,  though  my  yearning  women  give  every  man 
they  have. 
Britannia  :      We  thank  thee,  South  Africa. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  ii 

Scotland  :  And  now,  hearken  all  of  ye  to  the  battle  beyond 
the  skyline,  where  we  must  go.  Our  allies  are  gathered 
together.  France,  Russia,  Belgium,  Poland,  Servia, 
Montenegro  and  Japan  are  fighting  together  against  the 
eagles  that  tear  at  the  heart  of  the  world. 

Britannia  :  We  go  to  join  them.  Keep  high  your  hearts, 
my  children,  and  together  we  will  show  the  nations  that 
England  stands  for  right,  and  right  is  might.  Together 
we  will  wade  through  carnage  and  unspeakeable  suffering 
and  sacrifice.  And  we  will  gaze  at  the  dread  beauty  in 
the  face  of  God's  most  terrible  scourge  and  minister, — 
that  chastening  angel  whom  men  call  War.  Unsheath 
your  swords  ! 

(All  draw.) 
Now  comes  the  dark  upon  us  ! 
(Darkness.     The  curtain  falls,  to  rise  again  immediately.) 
Britannia  sings  :     "When  Britain  first  at  Heaven's  com- 
mand," etc.     The  rest  join  in  the  chorus. 


THE    CULPRIT. 

A   COMEDY    IN    ONE    ACT. 


PERSONS  : 
MR.    BRASSEY 
CATHLEEN 
WILLIAM 
A   MAID 
The  scene   liappens   to   be   laid   in  Johannesburg. 
TIME  : —     The   present   day.. 


SCENE:  Mr.  Brassey's  study,  the' comfortably  furnished 
room  of  a  wealthy  man.  At  the  back  are  two  windows  ; 
on  the  left  (as  one  looks  at  the  stage)  is  a  large  writing 
desk  ;  and  there  is  a  door  in  the  right  wall.  To  the 
right  is  a  small  table  holding  magazines  and  framed 
photographs.  In  the  right  wall  further  back  than  the 
door  is  a  fire-place  with  a  mirror  above  it. 

The  wall-paper  is  expensive  and  richly  coloured,  the 
pictures  are  large  photogravures  in  dark  frames,  the 
chairs  are  all  sohd  and  comfortable  looking. 

The  time  is  dusk  on  a  winter  afternoon,  and  Mr. 
Brassey  is  standing  with  his  back  to  the  audience  looking 
out  of  the  window.  He  is  a  big,  middle-aged  man  with 
a  square  chin. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  13 

A  knock  at  the  door,  which  is  repeated  before  he  hears. 

Brassey  :     Come  in. 

(Enter  the  maid) 
Maid  :         There's  a  young  lady  to  see  you,  sir. 
Brassey  :     What  ? 
Maid  :        A  young  lady,  sir. 

Brassey  :     What  on  earth  have  I  got  to  do  with  a  yonng  lady  ? 
Maid  :         I  don't  know,  sir.     May  I  pull  down  the  blinds  ? 
Brassey  :     Yes,  pull  down  the  blinds,  and  turn  on  the  hght. 

(The  maid  proceeds  to  do  so) 
Brassey  :     What  sort  of  a  young  woman  is  she  ?     What  does 

she  want  ?     Begging  for  some  charity,  I  suppose,  eh  ? 
Maid  :         I  don't  know,  sir. 
Brassey  :    Well,  you  ought  to  know.     You'd  never  ktep  a 

place  in  an  office  if  you  can't  spot  these  begging  women 

at  once.     What's  she  like  ? 
Maid  :         She's  a  lady,  sir.     You  can  see  that.     But  dressed 

very  shabby.     I  wouldn't  like  to  be  seen  walking  out  in 

a  dress  as  shabby  as  wliat  she's  got  on.     Shall  I  show 

her  in,  sir  ? 
Brassey  :     I  suppose  so. 

(Telephone  bell  rings) 

Wait ! — (speaking  down  telephone)   Yes,  I  did  ask  for 

1347.     Disengaged  at  last,  eh  ?    Give  them  to  me,  then. 

(To  maid)   Show  her  in,  but  wait  a  couple  of  minutes, 

I  must  telephone  first. 
Maid  :        Yes,  sir.     And  if  you  please,  sir,  cook  asked  me  to 

ask  if  those  gentlemen  are  coming  to  dinner  ? 
Brassey  :     No.     I'll  be  alone,  as  usual. 
Maid  :         Very  good,  sir. 

(She  goes  out) 
Brassey  :     Hallo  !     Are   you  there  ?   hallo  !     Are  you  the 

detective  department  ? — put   me  through  to  the  chief. 

Hallo !    .    .    .    Brassey  here.     What  about  that  forgery 

business  ?     Have  you  done  anything  about  it  yet  ?  .  .  . 

Well  it's  about  time  you  did  get  a  clue  ...  a  woman, 

eh? — you  think  it's  a  woman.     Well,  I  don't  care  if  it's 

man,  woman  or  child  .  .  .  Prosecute  !  of  course  I  mean 

to  prosecute.     What  am  1  taking  all  this  trouble  for  ? 

Do  you  think  I'm  getting  up  a  picnic  ?    Very  well,  then. 


14  WHAT   OF    THE    NIGHT? 

You'd  better  ring  me  up  about  it  later. 
(He  puts  down  receiver.     Maid  looks  in,  then  opens  the 
door  for  Cathleen,  who  comes  in  with  a  half-frightened 
air.     She  is  poorly  dressed,  but  piquante,   with  pretty 
hair,  pretty  dimples  and  a  pretty  voice.) 

Brassey  :     Well,  young  lady  ? 

Cathleen  :  Are  you  Mr.  Brassey  ? 

Brassey  :  That's  my  name.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to 
tell  me  yours  ? 

Cathleen  :  I  don't  think  it  matters. 

Brassey  :     I  think  it  does. 

Cathleen  :  I'll  tell  it  you  afterwards.  I  promise  I'll  tell  it  you 
afterwards.     There's  something  else  I  must  tell  you  first. 

Brassey  :     As  you  please.     Will  you  sit  down  ? 

Cathleen  :  No.     I'd  rather  stand. 

Brassey  :     Well,  do  you  mind  if  I  take  a  chair  ? 

Cathleen  :  Not  a  bit. 

Brassey  :     What  have  you  come  about  ?     Business  ? 

Cathleen  :  Yes.     In  a  sort  of  way. 

Brassey  :     Well  ? 

Cathleen  :  I  don't  know  whether  you've  found  it  out — I  dare- 
say you  haven't  noticed — but  somebody  has  forged  your 
name  on  a  cheque  for  ^loo. 

Brassey  :     Yes,  I  have  noticed  it. 

Cathleen  :  It's  dreadful,  isn't  it  ? 

Brassey  :  Have  you  come  to  me  on  behalf  of  the  person 
who  did  it  ? 

Cathleen  :  (Hesitatingly)  Yes. 

Brassey  :  Then  you  may  go  back  and  say  that  I've  put  the 
matter  into  the  hands  of  the  police,  the  detectives  are  on 
their  track,  and  they'll  be  caught  in  a  day  or  two.  I've 
just  had  a  'phone  message  through  from  the  C.I.D. 
saying  they  were  following  up  a  certain  clue.  Well,  we 
all  know  the  C.I.D.  At  the  same  time  a  certain  clue 
sounds  pretty  safe.  I  give  them  two  days  at  most,  in  case 
the  forger  lives  at  the  other  end  of  the  town.  You  or  I 
would  probably  have  him  safe  in  half  an  hour.  And 
when  I  say  "  him  "  I  should  of  course  say  "  her." 

Cathleen  :  Why  "  her  ?  " 

Brassey  :    Won't  you  change  your  mind  and  take  a  chair  ? 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  15 

Cathleen  :  Thank  you. 

(She  sits  down) 
Brassey  :     Well,  because  these  C.I.D.  fellows  have  discovered 

that  it's  a  woman. 
Cathleen  :  They  must  be  awfully  clever. 
Brassey  :     I've  no  doubt  they  must  seem  so  to  the  friends  of 

the  guilty  person.     There's  a  difference  in  the  point  of 

view.     Look  here,  what  did  you  hope  to  gain  by  coming 

to  see  me  ? 
Cathleen  :  Nothing.     I  came  to  confess.     It  was  me. 
Brassey  :     I  thought  as  much. 
Cathleen  :  Wliy  ?     Do  I  look  Uke  a  forger  ? 
Brassey  :     Evidently — So  when  you  found  the  detectives  were 

after  you  and  the  game  was   up,   you  came   to   throw 

yourself  on  my  mercy  ? 
Cathleen  :  Not  a  bit.     I  didn't  know  they  were  after  me.     I 

didn't  think  you  would  have  discovered  it  so  soon.     I 

came  because — you  see  my  husband  found  out  what  I 

had  done,  and  he  was  so  angry  with  me.     He  said  it  was 

almost  as  bad  as  stealing. 
Brassey  :     It  is  stealing,  called  by  another  name. 
Cathleen  :  Well,    I  prefer  it  not  called  stealing.     But  Will 

went  off  without  forgiving  me,  and  we've  never  quarrelled 

before.     I  didn't  see  what  I  could  do   but   come  and 

confess  to  you.     I'm  awfully  sorry,  really,  but  you've  got 

such  heaps  of  money  I  didn't  think  you'd  miss  it. 
Brassey  :     Do  you  know  who  was  the  first  thief  in  the  world's 

history  ? 
Cathleen :   No,  unless  it  was  Cain. 
Brassey  :     Neither  do  I,  but  he  made  just  the  excuse  that 

you  did.     Now  do  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  ? 
Cathleen  :  No. 
Brassey  :     I'm  going  to  ring  up  tlie  police  station  and  hand 

you  over  to  the  police.     I  wonder  what's  the  number  of 

the  nearest  station  ? 

(Picks  up  book) 
Cathleen  :  You  aren't  really  going  to,  are  you  ? 
Brassey  :     Of  course  I  am.     You'll   find   that    I've  got   no 

mercy  where  thieves  and  forgers  are  concerned. 
Cathleen  :  Will  they  send  me  to  prison  ? 


i6  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

Brassey  :     Very  probably. 

Cathleen  :  But  what  will  my  husband  do  ? 

Brassey  :     He  should  have  kept  you  in  better  order. 

Cathleen  :  He  couldn't.     He  was  ill.     That's  why  I  did  it. 

He  was  desperately  ill,  and  we   hadn't   money  to  buy 

anything  with,  not  even  food.     Wouldn't  you  feel  ready 

to  rob  a  church  if  the  person  you  loved  best  was  dying 

and  you  couldn't  give  them  medicine  ? 
Brassey  :     2773. 

(Puts  down  the  book) 
Cathleen  :  (Leaning  forward  and  laying   her   hand   on   his) 

Mr.  Brassey,  I  hadn't  even  food  to  give  him. 
Brassey  :     That  was  unfortunate. 

(He  picks  up  the  receiver) 

Hello  !  2773.     Well,  give  them  to  me  as  soon  as  they 

are  disengaged. 
Cathleen  :  Please  don't  ring  them  up,  Mr.  Brassey.     I'm  not 

an  ordinary  criminal,  you  know.     I've  been  very  carefully 

brought  up,  and  I'm  very  young.     I  don't  think  I  could 

bear  to  go  to  prison. 
Brassey :     You  were  not   too   young  to    forge    my    name 

apparently.     Though  how  you  did  it  beats  me. 
(Telephone  bell  rings) 
Cathleen  :  I'll  show  you  how  I  did  it.     Make  the  telephone 

wait,  and  I'll  show  you.     Don't  you  want  to  see  ? 
Brassey  :     (Down  the  receiver)  Hello  !  .  .  ,  Well,  I'm  busy 

now.     They  must  wait. 
Cathleen  :  I've  always  been  good  at  forging  people's  names. 

It's  a  dreadful  talent  to  have.     It's  such  a  temptation. 
Brassey  :     (Handing  her  pen  and  paper).     Forge  my  name 

on  that. 

(She  sits  in  his  chair,   facing  the   door,   and   writes. 

He  stands  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  desk  watching  her. 

When  she  has  finished  she  gives  him  the  paper.) 
Brassey  :     H'm     That  would  be  enough  to  convict  you  in 

any  court  of  law.     But  I'm  not  mean  enough  to  use  it 

against  you. 

(Tears  up  paper  and  throws  it  in  the  waste-paper 

basket) 
Cathleen  :  Then  are  you  going  to  let  me  off  ? 


AND    02 HER    SKETCHES.  17 

Brassey  :     Certainly  not.     I've  already  told  you  what  I  am 

going  to  do. 
Cathleen  :  If  you'll  wait  just  a  little  while,  1  promise  you  that 

we'll  pay  all  the  money  back. 
Brassey  :     What  salary  does  your  husband  get  ?     Enough  to 

hve  on  ? 
Cathleen  :  (Whimsically  troubled)     Almost  ! 
Brassey  :     Then  how  do  you  propose  to  pay  me  back  ?     Not 

that  it  matters,  for  I've  already  told  you  what  steps    I 

mean  to  take. 

(He  goes  round  the  desk  to  the  telephone,  but  she  is 

before  him,  and  puts  her  hands  on  the  receiver) 
Cathleen  :  Wait  a  minute.     Just  one  minute,  please,  before 

you  'phone. 
Brassey  :     I  warn  you  that  its  no  use  you  trying  to  get  round 

me.     I'm  perfectly  hardened  to   the   blandishments  of 

your  sex. 
Cathleen  :  Oh  I  everybody  knows  what  a  hard  man  you  are. 
Brassey  :     Do  they  ?     What  do  you  know  about  it  ? 
Cathleen  :  I  know  that's  why  you  live  all  alone  in  this  great 

house.     I  know  that  you  quarrelled  with  your  only  son 

and  cast  him  off. 
Brassey  :     He  chose  to  go  against  my  wishes,  and  that's  the 

end  of  him  so  far  as  I'm  concerned.     I  don't  allow  my 

will  to  be  crossed.     What's  it  got  to  do  with  you  ? 
Cathleen  :  They  say  that  you  don't  even  know  if  lie's  alive  or 

dead. 
Brassey  :     If  they  say  that  again,  tell  them  that  I  always  read 

the  obituary  notices.      Do  you  mind  allowing  me  to  use 

the  telephone,  please  ? 
(She  retreats) 
Brassey  :     (Down  the  telephone)     Hello  ! 
Cathleen  :  You  know  it  was  only  for  ^100,  Mr,  Brassey. 
Brassey  :     A  forgery  is  a  forgery. 
Cathleen  :  Then  I  wish  I  had  made  it  _^i,ooo.     It  would  liave 

been  just  as  easy. 
Brassey  :     (Down  the  telephone)     2773 
Cathleen  :  Well,  if  Suffragettes  can  go  to  prison  for  pleasure, 

I  suppose  I  needn't  mind. 
Brassey  :     Is  that  the  pohce  station  ?    Brassey  liere.    William 


i8  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Brassey.     Send  a  constable  round  to  my  house  at  once. 

You  know  my  house  ? Yes  .  .  .  Yes. 

(Puts  down  receiver) 

Cathleen  :  Do  you  mind  if  I  use  your  'phone  ? 

Brassey  :     Not  in  the  least. 

Cathleen  :  Hallo  !  hallo  !  hallo  !  These  girls  are  a  nuisance, 
aren't  they  ?  Oh  !  is  that  the  exchange  ?  905  please 
...  Is  that  905  ?  Oh  !  can  I  speak  to  the  junior  clerk 
please  ?  ...  his  wife  .  .  .  Thank  you  .  .  .  Oh  !  Will, 
is  that  you  ?  I'm  in  his  house  .  .  .  Mr.  Brassey's. 
I  know,  dear,  but  I  had  to  come.  I  told  him  all  about  it 
and  he's  going  to  send  me  to  prison.  Will,  dear,  come 
round  quickly — quick  as  you  can — and  save  me  .  .  .  Yes, 
dear.  You  will  come  quickly,  won't  you  ?  You  must 
get  here  before  the  policeman.  I'm  not  afraid  !  I'm 
alright  as  long  as  I've  got  you  .  .  .  Goodbye,  dear  .  .  . 
Yes. 

Brassey  :     So  now,  I  suppose,  you  think  that's  alright  ? 

Cathleen  :  Yes,  I  can  trust  Will. 

Brassey  :  I  pin  my  faith  to  the  law.  And  now  if  you'll 
excuse  me,  I'm  going  to  lock  you  up  in  here  and  leave 
you  till  the  constable  arrives. 

Cathleen  :  You  know,  really,  for  a  business  man —  ! 

Brassey  ;     What  is  it  ? 

Cathleen  :  The  windows  fasten  on  the  inside  ! 

Brassey  :     You'll  find  my  dog  chained  up  outside  the  windows. 

Cathleen  :  That  nice  big  creature  I  made  friends  with  in 
the  hall  ? 

Brassey  :  Very  well,  I've  no  alternative  but  to  remain  here. 
Please  excuse  my  writing  a  letter.  There  are  some 
magazines  on  that  table. 

Cathleen  :  (Sitting  down)     Thank  you. 

(Slie  remains  quietly  watching  him.     A  pause) 

Brassey  :  (Indicating  the  table  with  his  pen).  You'll  find 
the  latest  Strand  there. 

Cathleen  :  Thanks.  I  don't  want  to  read.  But  I  won't  look 
at  you  if  it  embarrasses  you. 

Brassey  :     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Cathleen  :  Nothing.  Only  I  thought  you  seemed  to  be  a 
little — ashamed  of  yourself. 


AND    02 HER    SKETCHES.  19 

Brassey  :  I'm  nothing  of  the  sort. 

Cathleen  :  It's  such  a  nuisance  being  really  firm-willed.     One 

has  to  go  through  with  a  thing  even  after  one  has  begun 

to   disapprove    of   it   oneself.     I     know,    because    my 

husband's   like   that.     It's    really    pathetic    sometimes, 

seeing  him  try  to  change  his  mind. 
Brassey  :     Will  you  allow  nie  to  finish  my  letter  ? 
Cathleen  :  Oh  !  of  course.     I  thought  you  were  only  pretend- 
ing to  write,  so's  not  to  have  to  talk  to  me.     May  I  walk 

round  and  look  at  things  ?    ...    So  you  still  keep  his 

photograph  ? 
Brassey  :     Whose  ? 
Cathleen  :  Your  son's.     It  is  yoiu-  son's,  I  suppose  ?     You're 

very  like  him.     It's  funny  how  often    fathers   are   like 

their  sons. 
Brassey  :     It's  not  a  subject  that  I  care  to  discuss. 
Cathleen  :  I  was  just  thinking — heavens — I  might  have  been 

your  daughter  ! 
Brassey  ;     Then  you'd  have  had  the  nonsense  well  thiashed 

out  of  you  in  your  youth. 
Cathleen  :  Is  that  the  way  you  brought  up  your  son  ? 
Brassey  :     I  wish  I  had.     (Thumping  his  fist  on  the  desk)  I 

wish  to  the  Lord  I  had  ! 
Catlileen  :  Why  ? 
Brassey  :     If  the  pig-i)eaded  young  fool  had  had  the  least 

respectfor  my  wisiies  .  .  .ha!  it's  nothing  to  do  wilh  you. 
Catlileen  :  Then  you  miss  him  ? 
Brassey  :     Certainly  not.     He  may  go  to  the  devil  for  all  I 

care.     Probably  has.    .    .    What's  it  got  to  do  with  you  ? 

Do  you  know  him  ? 
Cathleen  :  A  little.     Of  course  if  you'd  really  cared  for  him 

you  wouldn't  have  tried  to  prevent  his  marrying  the  girl 

he  loved. 
Brassey  :     W^as  he  of  an  age  to  marry  ?     Or  a  position  to 

marry  ? 
Cathleen  :  They  say  that  his  income  was  sufficient  till  you 

turned  him  out  of  your  office. 
Brassey  :     What  do  you  know  about  it  ? 
Cathleen  :  I  know  that  when  you'ie  5 oung  and  poor  is  the 

happiest  time  of  your  lives  if  you  love  one  another.     I 


20  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  i 

know  that,  because  my  husband  is  poor,  and  lie  and  I 

were  too  happy  for   words  till  he  got  ill.     Even  now, 

even  if  you  send  me  to  prison,  we  belong  to  each  other. 

So  you  were  trying  to  do  your  son  out  of  just  the  most 

beautiful  thing  in  the  world, 
Brassey  :     The  young  fool  chose  to  marry  beneath  him  and 

he  can  go  to  the  devil  in  his  own  way. 
Cathleen  :  Do  you  know  that's  the  second  time  you've  used 

bad  language  in  front  of  me. 
Brassey  :     Oh  !     (very  brusquely)     I  apologise. 
Cathleen  :  It's  all  rigiit.     I  don't  mind  except  that  it  doesn't 

show   respect.      How   do   you  know   that   he  married 

beneath  him?     Have  you  ever  seen  his  wife? 
Brassey  :     Once  for  all,  I'm  not  going  to  discuss  the  matter. 
Cathleen  ;  (listening)     Will's  rather  long,  isn't  he  ? 
Brassey  :     So's  the  constable. 
Cathleen  :  Thank  goodness. 

(She  goes  over  to  the  mirror) 
Cathleen  :  Mr.  Brassey  ! 
Brassey  :     Well  ? 
Cathleen  :  I  do  think  you  might  have  told  me  that  my  hat's 

all  crooked. 
Brassey  :     I  didn't  see  anything  wrong  with  it. 
Cathleen  :  (taking  the  pins  out).     It's  rather  a  becoming  hat, 

isn't  it  ?     I  trimmed   it  myself,  and  it  cost  me  exactly 

four  shillings. 

(She  takes  it  off) 
Brassey  :     I'm  glad  that  you  can  use  your  lingers  in  more 

ways  than  one. 
Cathleen  :  Oh  !     I  can  cook  and  sew  and  before  I  married  I 

could  typewrite.     Mr.  Brassey,  do  you  know  anything 

about  prisons  ? 
Brassey :     Not  much. 
Cathleen  :  Will  they  shave  my  hair  off  ? 
Brassey  :     Possibly. 
Cathleen  :  Oh  dear  !     What  shall  I  do  ?     Will  does  admire 

it  so. 
Brassey  :     I  expect  it's  all  curled  up  with  curlers. 
Cathleen  :  Oh  !      no   it's    not.      The   wave's    quite    natural. 

It's  rather  pretty  hair,  don't  you  think  ? 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  21 

Brassey  :     (gazing  at  her)     I'm  no  judge. 

Cathleen  :  Oh  !    but  all  men  are. 

Brassey  :     Do  you  mind  letting  me  finish  this  letter  ? 

Cathleen  :  Very  well  .  .  .  (she  puts  on  her  hat  again)  Mr. 
Brassey  !  • 

Brassey  :     Yes. 

Catlileen  :  Don't  you  think  it's  very  hard  that  when  a  person 
does  wrong,  all  the  people  who  love  them  should  be 
punished  too  ?  If  you  send  me  to  prison,  it  will  break 
my  husband's  heart. 

Brassey  :     That's  his  look  out. 

Cathleen  :  Oh,  I'm  not  trying  to  persuade  you  to  change 
your  mind.  Of  course  I  know  you  can't  do  that  I  But 
I  just  want  you  to  agree  with  me  that  it's  hard.  I  haven't 
got  any  near  relations,  but  think  of  Will's.  He's  got  a 
father  who's  getting  old,  and  is  awfully  proud,  and  Will 
himself  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer.  It  must  be  a  sort  of 
disgrace  to  them  if  I'm  put  in  prison. 

Brassey  :  You  should  have  considered  all  tliis  before.  I 
can't  help  it. 

Cathleen  :  (Leaning  close  against  the  desk  and  looking  across 
it  at  him)  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have 
sympathised  with  proud,  hard  people.  My  husband's 
father  is — very  like  you.  Can't  you  feel  for  him  at  all  ? 
Haven't  you  any  pity  ? 

Brassey  ;  Now  do  me  the  favour,  young  woman,  to  consider 
the  position.  You  choose  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself  by 
marrying  another  young  fool,  as  penniless  as  you  are. 
He  gets  ill.  Well,  that  was  only  what  you  might  have 
expected.  The  chances  were  that  it  would  have  been 
you  ;  that  it  would  have  been  a  baby. 

Cathleen  :  Well  ? 

Brassey  :  You  were  destitute  ;  no  food,  no  medicine.  How 
could  you  expect  food  or  medicine  without  money  to 
pay  for  them  ?  You  were  simply  reaping  the  fruits  of 
your  own  folly.  And  then  you  steal  my  money  to  put 
right  the  position  your  foolishness  created. 

Cathleen  :  Well  ? 

Brassey  :  Well  ?  It's  all  your  own  fault,  don't  you  under- 
stand ?     You're  only  getting  what  you  asked  for.     You 


22  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

were  fools  and  you  must  accept  the  situation. 

Catlileen  :  We  might  have  refused  love.  In  that  case  we 
should  have  had  enough  to  eat  and  drink  and  clothe 
ourselves  with,  but  would  that  have  satisfied  us  if  we 
went  lonely  and  undeveloped  all  our  lives  ?  Is  that 
what  you  would  have  had  us  do,  Mr.  Brassey  ? 

Brassey  :     Love  is  no  use  without  a  balance  at  the  bank. 

Cathleen  :  (Sitting  on  his  desk)  We  have  been  married  for 
a  year  and  as  poor  as  we  could  be,  but  if  there  were 
never  to  be  any  more  happiness  for  me,  my  life  would 
have  been  worth  living.  Oh  !  you  can't  understand. 
Love  makes  the  world  all  coloured.  Tell  rae  !  isn't  it 
bitter  to  be  lonely  ? 

Brassey  :  Sometimes,  perhaps.  But  you  see  your  very 
pleasant  year  has  to  be  paid  for  rather  impleasantly. 

Cathleen  :  Oh  !  Love  is  never  at  its  best  when  things  go 
smoothly.  Trouble  improves  it.  I'm  quite  ready  to  go 
to  prison  if  you  want  me  to — Do  you  ? 

Brassey  :  You  think  you've  got  round  me,  do  you  ?  You 
think  that  I'm  to  be  talked  over  as  easily  as  a  boy  ? 
By  Jove  !  I'll  show  you  that  I  am  not.  You  women 
are  all  alike.  Always  wheedling  and  coaxing  to  get  out 
of  the  consequences  of  your  own  actions.  Well  we'll 
see  which  is  the  stronger,  my  will  or  your  cajolery. 
(A  knock  at  the  door) 

Brassey :     (Sternly)     Come  in. 

(Enter  the  maid) 

Maid  :  (Rather    nervously)     If  you   please,    sir,    there's 

someone  to  see  you. 

Cathleen  :  Oh  !  it's  not  the  policeman  ? 

Brassey  :     If  it's  the  constable,  send  him  in  at  once,  Louisa. 

Maid  :'         No.  sir,  it's — it's  Mr.  William. 

Brassey  :  Confound  his  impudence  !  Didn't  I  tell  you  he 
was  never  to  enter  this  house  again  ? 

Maid  :  Yes,  sir.  But  you  know  what  Mr.  William  is,  sir. 
He  was  that  quick,  I  couldn't  keep  him  out. 

Brassey  :     Tell  him  I  refuse  to  see  him.     He  can  go. 

Maid  :  Yes,  sir.  I'll  tell  him.  But  he  said  he  didn't  care 
what  you  said,  sir,  he  was  going  to  come  in. 

Brassey  :     Turn  him  out. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  23 

Maid  :         Very  good,  sir.    Though  Mr.  WilHam  is  that  strong. 

(Exit  maid) 
Cathleen  ;  He  doesn't  want  to  see  you.    He  has  come  to  see  me. 
Brassey  :     What  do  you  mean  ? 
Cathleen  :  You  see,  he's  my  husband. 
Brassey  :     My  son  your  husband  ? 
Cathleen  :  Yes — I  know  I  should  have  told  you,  but — 
Brassey  :     (Incensed)     Don't  think  I'm  going  to  let  it  make 

any  difference. 

(Enter  William,  poorly  dressed  and  emaciated) 
William  :  Cathleen,    I've   come.     Don't   you   be  afraid,  old 

girl.     I'll  take  care  of  you. 
Brassey  :     What  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  against  my 

express  orders  ? 
William  :  I' ve  only  come  to  take  my  wife  away.     I've  a  perfect 

right  to  be  where  she  is. 
Brassey  :     Don't  try  heroics   with  me,   young   man.     What 

have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  ?     You  look  as  if  you 

had  been  exhumed  from  the  grave. 
Cathleen  :  He  has  been  very  nearly  dead.      He  was  ill  for 

weeks. 
William  :    That's  of  no  interest  to  him. 
Brassey  :     Isn't  it  ? 
Cathleen  :  Will,  dear  !  (whispers  to  him)  Do  try  and  be  more 

conciliating,  for  my  sake. 
William  :    Well,  I'll  try. 
Brassey  :     Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  that  you  were  ill  ? 

You  must  be  a  fool  if  you  didn't  know  that  I  would  have 

helped  you  had  I  known  you  were  in  want. 
William  :    I  only  knew  that  you  said  perfectly  distinctly  that 

you  never  wished  to  see  or  hear  of  me  again. 
Brassey  :     Then  why  are  you  here  now  ? 
William  :    I    have  only   come   to  get  my  wife  out  of  your 

clutches. 
Cathleen  :  (nestling  against  him  on  the  other  side)  :     What 

about  conciliation,  Will  ? 
William  :    Oh  !     I    forgot — Of    course   I    should   have     re- 
membered that  you  were  in  a  rage  when  you  said  that. 
Brassey  ;     I  was  nothing  of  the  sort. 
William  :    I  should  have  made  allowances. 


24  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

Brassey  :     Allowances  !     Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  I'll  have 

no  more  of  your  confounded  impudence  ! 
Cathleen  :  Don't  quarrel !    (to  Brassey)  It's  all  my  fault,    I 

know  ;    are  you  dreadfully  angry  with  me,  Mr.  Brassey  ? 
William  :    It's  no  use  talking  to  him,  Cathleen.     You  can  see 

for  yourself  that  he  wont  listen  to  reason. 
Cathleen  :  You're  both  so   dreadfully  strong-willed.     What 

did  you  do  when  you  lived  in  the  same  house  ? 
Brassey  :     (drily)  Quarrelled. 
Cathleen  :    Do   you    know   what    you   wanted  ?     Simply  a 

third  person  to  keep  tlie  peace  between  you — nothing 

else. 
Brassey  :     You  think  two's  bad  company,  eh  ? 
William  :    (handing  her  a  reticle)  Cathleen,  this  is  your  bag, 

isn't  it  ?     Come  along  home,  now.     It's  no  use  waiting 

here  longer.     It's  just  wasting  one's  breath. 
Brassey  :     Not  so  fast,  young  man.     Your  wife  has  forged 

my  name,  and  I'm  waiting  for  the  constable  to  arrest  her. 
William  :    We'll  pay  you  the  money  back. 
Brassey  :     You  can't,  you're  not  in  a  position  to  do  so,  and 

if   you  were,    I  don't   propose  to   compound  a   felony. 

You  can  go  with  pleasure,    but  your  wife  doesn't   stir 

from  this  house.    Sit  down,  if  you  please,  young  woman. 
William  :    You  can't  be  serious. 
Brassey  :     I  am  perfectly  serious. 

W^illiam  :    She  is  my  wife  and  your  own  dau^hter-in-law. 
Brassey  :     I  told  you  not  to  many  her. 
W^illiam  :    Good  heavens  ! 

Cathleen  :  Will,  you  needn't  worry.     It  will  be  alright, 
William  :    No,  hang  it  all,  Cathleen.     You've  got  us  into  the 

dickens  of  a  mess.     I've  told  you  the  sort  of  man  my 

father  was.     You  might  have  been  more  careful. 
Cathleen  :  I    hadn't  the  least  idea  what   sort   of  man   your 

father  w'as  till  I  came  and  met  him. 

(Smiles  brightly  at  Mr.  Brassey,  who  avoids  her  eye. 

The  maid  knocks  and  enters). 
Maid :         There's  a  policeman  here,  sir,  wishes  to  see  you. 
William  :    Send  him  away. 

Brassey  :     You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  Louisa. 
William  ;    Wait  a  moment,  then.     (Opens  door  and  speaks 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  25 

to  the  policeman).     Good  evening.     Just  wait  a  moment, 

will   you  ?     Mr.    Brassey's   engaged.     Louisa  !   go   and 

talk  to  him — keep  him  amused. 
Maid  :         Oh  I  can't,  Mr.  William.     I've  got  my  table  to  lay. 
William  :    Never  mind  the  table.     You  go  and  amuse  him. 

He's  quite  a  nice-looking  fellow. 
Maid  :        Yes,  he  seems  a  nice  chap,  Mr.  WilHam.     Oh  ! — 

well  then. 

(goes  out) 
William  :    Now,   will  you  allow  me  to  take  my  wife  away 

from  here,  or  will  you  not  ? 
Brassey  :     Does  it  always  take  so  long  for  an  idea  to  enter 

his  brain,  Mrs.  Brassey  ? 
William  :    Don't  play  with  me,   father.     I  warn  you  to  be 

careful.     Look  here  !     She's  a  child.     She's  only  twenty. 

She's  been  delicately  brought  up.     I  know  that  you  stick 

at  nothing,   but  do  you  honestly  mean  to  send  her  to 

prison  ? 
Brassey  :     (Grimly)  I  do. 
Wilham  :    You  let  her  come  with  me  at  once  or  I'll  shoot 

you  dead  ! 

(Whips  out  a  revolver) 
Cathleen  :  Will,  keep  cool  for  heaven's  sake  !     Say  it  goes  off. 
William  :    It  will  go  off,  unless  he  gives  in. 
Cathleen  :  Give  me  that  revolver, 
William  :    Mind  away. 
Brassey  :     If  you  think  I'm  to  be  turned  from  my  purpose 

by  threats,  young  man,  you're  mistaken. 

(He  calmly  studies  a  scrap  of  paper) 
William  :    I'll  do  more  than  threaten.     Unless  you  swear  to 

let  her  go,  I'll  shoot. 
Cathleen  :    Will,    you   can't   shoot   your   own   father.     It's 

patricide. 
William  :    Shut  up,  Cathleen. 
Brassey  :     Don't    lose    your    manners   in   your   excitement, 

William. 
Cathleen  :  Will,  you  were  rude  to  me. 
William  :    I'm  sorry,  old  girl. 
Cathleen  :  Then   don't   stand  flourishing  that  revolver.     It 

looks  so  silly. 


26  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

William  :  Oh  !  I  suppose  I'm  a  fool.  But  after  all  it  was 
for  your  sake. 

Cathleen  :  I  know,  dearest.  But  it  isn't  necessary.  He's 
not  going  to  send  me  to  prison.     He  never  intended  to. 

William  :     How  do  you  know  ? 

Cathleen  :  Can't  you  see  that  he's  just  longing  to  make  it  up  ? 

Brassey  :  You  appear  to  know  a  good  deal  about  my 
intentions,  young  woman. 

Cathleen  :  Yes.  Do  you  think  I  should  really  have  taken  it 
so  calmly  if  I'd  thought  you  were  going  to  send  me  to 
prison  ?  I  should  have  tried  my  hardest  to  persuade 
you  not  to. 

Brassey  :     Indeed  ! 

Cathleen  :  Yes  ;  now  look  here,  why  pretend  to  be  so  hard- 
hearted when  nil  the  time  you  rather  like  me  ?  You  do, 
don't  you  ?     You  did  from  the  first,  didn't  you  ? 

Brassey  :     Go  on — take  your  William  and  go. 

Cathleen  :  I  don't  want  to  go  yet.  You're  so  absurdly  like 
William.  He  never  can  admit  when  he's  changed  his 
mind. 

William  :    Come  along,  Cathleen.  You'll  only  make  him  angry. 

Cathleen  :  (To  Brassey)  Shall  I  go  or  stay  ? 

Brassey  :     You  can  do  as  you  please. 

Cathleen  :  I  think  I  would  rather  stay,  but  not  unless  you 
want  me.    And  of  course,  William  would  have  to  stay  too. 

Brassey  :  Please  don't  sit  on  my  desk. 

Cathleen  :  (Continuing  to  sit  there)  What  a  pity  that  you've 
never  had  any  daughters.  You'd  have  had  them  sitting 
round  on  all  your  desks  and  things,  and  it  would  have 
been  so  good  for  you.  You  know  you're  so  like  William, 
and  I  love  him  so,  that  I  can't  help  liking  you  a  little. 
(Slips  round  to  his  side) 

Brassey  :  God  bless  you,  my  dear — and  confound  you  for 
an  artful  little  minx.     Don't  think  I  can't  see  through  you. 

Cathleen  :  (Sits  on  his  knee)  I'm  glad  you've  got  the  same 
sort  of  nose  as  he  has.     I  adore  his  nose. 

Brassey  :     You'd  better  not  start  adoring  mine. 

Cathleen  :  Make  it  up  with  him.  You  know,  he's  feeling 
rather  hurt  and  unhappy,  and  he  was  so  ill. 

Brassey  :  (Rising)  William  ! — I  don't  think  the  Brasseys 
ever  apologise,  do  they  ? 

WilUam  :    We  don't  seem  to  indulge  in  it  much. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  2y 

Brassey  :     I  suppose  there  has  been  fault  on  both  sides,  but  I 

confess  that  I  can't  see  any  on  mine. 
Wilham  :    Nor  I  on  mine. 
Brassey  :     And  if  the  same  circumstances  were  to  arise  again, 

I  should  behave  in  exactly  the  same  way. 
William  :    And  so  should  I.     Precisely. 
Brassey  :     Still,  making  allowances  for  your  youth — 
William  :    I  was  trying  to  remember,  sir,  that  you're  getting 

old. 
Cathleen  :  Oh  !  don't  quarrel  again. 
Brassey  :     My  dear  child  !     I  consider  that  I've  made  him 

rather  a  handsome  apology. 
William  :    And  I'll  accept  it — in  that  spirit. 
Brassey  :     Very  well — shake  hands. 

(They  shake  hands) 
Brassey  :     Well,    I'll  go  and  send  that  constable  about  his 

business.     You'll  both  stay  to  dinner,  of  course  ? 
William  :     Thanks. 
Cathleen  :  Are  you  sure  there'll  be   enough   dinner  ?     Men 

never  think  of  these  things. 
Brassey  :     Oh  !  sure  to  be. 
Cathleen  :  Don't  we  shake  hands,  too  ? 

(He  shakes  hands,  draws  her  to  him  and  kisses  her  on 

the  forehead.     Hesitates  what  to  say,  then  :) 
Brassey  :     You  should  have  brought  her  to  see  me  before, 

William. 

(Exit) 
William  :    (Hotly)     Isn't  that  just  like  him  ? 
Cathleen  :  Yes,  he's  just  like  you  ! 
William  :    Rot ! — I    say,    Cathleen,   you   are  a   little   brick  ! 

You've  made  it  up  between  us  and  I  didn't  think  the 

breach  could  ever  be  healed. 

(Takes  her  in  his  arms  and  kisses  her) 
Cathleen  :  Are  you  glad  ? 

William  :    Yes.     After  all,  you  know,  he  is  my  father. 
Cathleen  :  (Submitting    to    his   embrace)     Will,    you've   got 

your  tie  tied  all  wrong  again.     Let  me  do  it.     When  will 

you  learn  how  to  tie  a  tie  ?     Truly,   I  don't  know  what 

you'd  do  without  me  ! 
William  :    Neither  do  I. 

(Curtain  goes  down  on  Cathleen  tying  his  tie) 


28  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

WHAT  OF  THE   NIGHT? 

A    DRAMA    IN    ONE    ACT. 


PERSONS  : 

ROGER    ENFIELD. 
REV.   JAMES   MELKSHAM. 
CYRUS   (an  old  servant). 
CHARLOTTE   (a  phantom). 

SCENE  :    An  isolated  farmhouse  on  the  moors. 

TIME  :    Somewhere  in  the  Eighteen-thirties. 


SCENE  :  A  large  and  gloomy  room,  half  kitchen,  half 
parlour,  with  a  fire  burning  on  the  hearth  to  the  left  (as 
one  looks  at  the  stage).  At  the  back  is  a  great,  bolted, 
double  door  ;  to  the  right  of  it  a  curtained  window. 
In  the  right  wall  are  two  doors,  the  further  one  communi- 
cating with  the  upstairs  rooms,  the  nearer  with  the 
kitchen  proper.  Between  these  doors  is  a  huge,  oak 
dresser,  filled  with  shining  pewter. 

Facing  the  fiie,  Roger  Enfield  sits  brooding  in  a  big 
grandfather's  chair.  He  is  a  tall  man,  rather  gaunt 
but  with  a  heavy  frame.  Behind  him,  as  he  sits,  is  a 
small  solid  table  with  drawers.  Further  to  the  right  is 
a  larger  table  covered  with  a  cloth  and  the  remains  of 
supper. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  29 

There  is  a  knock  at  the  outer  door.  Enfield  glances 
in  that  direction,  but  takes  no  furthur  notice,  though  the 
knocking  is  repeated  at  intervals,  till  it  becomes  very 
loud  and  prolonged.  Then  lie  rises,  stands  with  his 
back  to  the  tii  eplace,  and  glowers  at  the  door. 

Enfield  :       Curse  your  infernal  row  ! 

(Cyrus  comes  shuffling  in  from  the  kitchen). 

Cyrus  :  Master  ! — sounds  like  somebody  knocking  at  the 

door. 

Enfield  :       Do  you  think  I'm  deaf  ? 

Cyrus  :  Bean't  you  going  to  let  him  in  ? 

Enfield  :       Not  till  I  choose. 

(Cyrus  goes  to  the  window  and  peers  out.) 

Cyrus  It's   a  man.     He's  going   round  to    the  back.     I 

hear  his  footsteps. 

Enfield  :       Haven't  you  locked  the  side-gate  ? 

Cyrus  :  Ay,  it's  locked  right  enough. 

Enfield  :       Then  he  can't  get  round. 

Cyrus  :  Master,  it's  not  a  night  to  leave  a  dog  outside. 

There's  heavy  snow  a-falling,  and  the  wind's  like  a  knife. 

Enfield  :  That's  his  business.  What's  he  doing  out  on  a 
night  like  this  ?  (The  knocking  is  heard  again.)  There  ! 
let  him  in.  (Enfield  rises.  Cyrus  opens  the  door  and 
admits  tlie  Rev.  James  Melksham,  whose  heavy  coat  is 
thickly  sprinkled  with  snow.  Enfield  leans  against 
the  mantelpiece  with  his  back  towards  them.) 

Melksham  :  Thank  you.  I  began  to  think  your  house  was 
deserted,  and  my  imagination  responsible  for  the  cheerful 
glow  in  your  windows.  What  a  relief  to  be  out  of  the 
wind  ! — I  presume  that  is  your  master  ? 

Cyrus  :  Ay. 

Melksham  :  (To  Enfield)     Good  evening,  sir. 

Enfield  :       (With  a  half  glance  round)  Good  evening. 

Melksham  :  I  must  apologise  for  trespassing  upon  you,  but 
I've  lost  my  way  in  the  snow.  Could  you  give  me  shelter 
while  the  storm  lasts  ?  (He  pulls  off  his  gloves  and  rubs 
his  half-frozen  hands.) 

Enfield  :  It  may  last  all  through  to-morrow  and  the  next 
night. 

Melksham  :  I    sincerely    hope  not.       But    I'm    afraid    it's 


30  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

impossible  for  me  to  go  on  while  it  rages  like  this, 

Enfield  :  So  I  must  make  you  free  of  my  house  for  the 
night,  eh  ?     Is  that  your  reasoning  ! 

Melksham  :  I'm  afraid  it  amounts  to  that.  If  I  could  possibly 
get  home  I  should  not  trouble  you,  but  the  snow  is 
falling  so  heavily  that  I  could  not  see  my  way  even 
before  night  came  on.  (Enfield  makes  no  remark.  Cyrus 
bolts  the  door)  Do  you  mind  if  I  remove  my  coat  ? 
It's  soaked  through  .  .  .  I'm  sorry  to  sprinkle  the  snow 
over  your  floor.  (To  Cyrus)  Perhaps  you  w'ould  be 
good  enough  to  dry  this  for  me  in  the  kitchen  ? 

Cyrus  :  (Collecting  the  used  plates,  knife,  fork,  etc.,  from 

the  supper-table)  Hang  it  over  that  chair  !  'Twill  dry 
of  itself. 

Melksham  :  Thank  you.  I  am  obliged.  (He  iiangs  his  coat 
over  a  chair,  and  removes  stray  snowflakes  from  his 
person  with  a  handkerchief.) 

Cyrus  :  Master,  shall  I  get  him  summat  to  eat  ? 

Enfield  :       Do  you  want  supper  ? 

Melksliam  :  I  wish  I  could  refuse  politely,  but  I'm  hungry  as 
a  hunter.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  should  be  most  grateful 
for  something  to  eat. 

Enfield  :       See  to  it,  Cyrus.     (Cyrus  goes  out) 

Melksham  :  I've  been  wandering  through  the  snow  for  five 
hours,  and  am  pretty  near  exhausted  ,  .  .  Have  you  any 
objection  to  my  coming  closer  to  the  fire  ? 

Enfield  :       None.     (Without  offering  to  make  room) 

Melksham  :  (Taking  a  seat  on  the  hearth  and  warming  his 
hands)  What  a  comforting  blaze  ! — It  seems  like  heaven 
to  be  out  of  that  wind.  (Enfield  gets  up  and  moves 
away.  Cyrus  comes  in  with  a  tray,  the  contents  of  which 
he  disposes  on  the  table.) 

Cyrus  :  I  suppose  bread  and  cheese  will  do  for  him  ? 

Enfield  :        I  suppose  so. 

Melksham  :  Admirably,  thank  you.  There's  no  better  fare 
for  a  hungry  man.  And  now  that  I've  established  a  little 
feeling  in  my  limbs,  I  can  fall  to  with  greater  relish. 
(Goes  to  the  table  and  takes  a  chair.) 

CjTus  :  Must  I  bring  him  a  mug  of  beer  ? 

Enlield  :        If  he  wants  it. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  31 

Melksham  :  Thank  you.     II  it's  not  too  much  trouble. 
Cyrus  :  (Muttering  to  himself  as  he  goes  out)     Trouble  ? 

That  it  is,  I'll  be  bound.     Darn  ye  and  your  troubles. 
Melksham  :  (After  his  tirst  few  mouthfuls)     How  the  wind 

can  blow  over  these  moors  of  yours.     I  do  not  remember 

a  wilder  night. 
Enfield  :        Then  you  must  be  a  stranger  here,    for   this  is 

very  customary  weather. 
Melksham  :  I  have  but  lately  come  to  these  parts.     Indeed, 

I  have  no   idea   where   I    am  at  the   present   moment. 

I  could  not  more  completely  have  lost  my  way. 
Enfield  :        What  were  you  doing  out  on  a  night  like  this  ? 

I  cannot  imagine  any  sane  man  being  abroad  in  tiiis  snow. 
Melksham  :  I  was  called  across  the  moor  to  visit  a  dying  man, 

and  as  I  was  coming  back  the  storm  came  on.     In  no 

time  I  was  completely  lost. 
Enfield  :       And  so  you  felt  entitled  to  force  your  company 

on  me  ? 
Melksham  :  (Laying  down  his  knife)     You  may  take  it  as  a 

fact  that  if  I  could  go  on  I  should  not  stay  here. — Perhaps 

you  could  lend  me  a  man  with  a  lantern  to  guide  me 

home  through  the  snow  ?     I  would  pay  him  handsomely. 
Enfield  :        It  would  matter  little  what  you  paid  him.     You 

would  both  be  dead  before  morning. 
Melksham  :  That  being  the  case,    I  am  afraid  I  must  stay 

here  ;   and  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.     (Goes  on  with 

his  supper.) 
Enfield  :        Look  you  ! — I  don't  know  your  name,  and  I  don't 

want  to. — Since  I  am  forced  to,  I  will  give  you  shelter  ; 

but  I'm  a  plain  mnn,  and  I  don't  like  company — and  if 

you  don't  like  my  manners,  you  must  put  up  with   them. 
Melksham  :  I  will.     There's  a  good  deal  of  necessity  in  the 

case,  all  round.     (A  short  silence.     Then  Cyrus  brings  in 

a  mug  of  beer  and  puts  it  on  the  table.)     Thanks.  (Cyrus 

grunts,  and  goes  out.     Again  a  short  silence.) 
Enfield  :        (Turning  suddenly  in  his  chair)     Hark  !   did  you 

hear  that  ? 
Melksham  :  What  ? 
Enfield  :       A  cry — like  a  child's  cry  in  the  dark.     (He  goes 

to  the  window,  draws  the  curtains,  opens  the  casement  a 

Uttle  way,  and  peers  out.) 


32  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

Melksham  :  Surely  it  could  not  be  a  child  on  a  night  like  this  ? 

Enfield  :  (Closing  the  window)  I  did  not  think  it  was  a 
child.  I  have  heard  it  often  before.  I  wondered  whether 
you  could  hear  it.     You  say  you  heard  nothing  ? 

Melksham  :  Nothing. — If  it  had  been  anything  supernatural — 

Enfield  :  (His  impatience  veiling  a  kind  of  uneasiness) 
Supernatural  !  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?  Surely 
you  don't  believe  such  stuff  ? — What  made  you  say  that  ? 

Melksham  :  I  really  liardly  know.  Something  in  your  voice, 
I  suppose.  But  if  it  had  been  anything  of  the  kind  I 
should  have  heard  it,  for  I'm  a  seventh  child,  and  have 
had  second  sight  from  my  babyhood. 

Enfield  :        I  wish  you  joy  of  it. 

Melksham  :  It  isn't  a  gift  to  be  grateful  for,  I  assure  you. 
I  have  no  wish  to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  the  tomb. 

Enfield  :        Haven't  you  ?     I  have — there  we  differ. 

Melksham  :  We  differ  in  a  good  many  ways,  it  would  seem. 
But  I've  finished  my  supper,  and  thank  you  for  it.  And 
now  I'm  afraid  I  must  ask  you  whether  you  have  any 
place  where  I  could  sleep  ? 

Enfield  :       (calling)    Cyrus  !  .  .  .  Cyrus  ! 

Cyrus  :  Did  you  call  ? 

Enfield  :        I  did.     Is  there  a  bedchamber  ready  ? 

Cyrus  :  I  suppose  so.     What  do  you  call  ready. 

Enfield  :       Are  there  blankets  on  the  bed,  you  fool  ? 

Cyrus  :  Ay,  there's  blankets. 

Enfield  :  Tlien  take  this  gentleman  up  there,  and  see  him 
safely  bestowed. 

Melksham  :  Thank  you — Good-night. 

Enfield  :  Good-night  and  goodbye.  If  you  are  down 
before  me  in  the  morning,  Cyrus  will  give  you  some 
coffee  and  you  can  go.  Unless  the  storm  continues. 
Then,  I  suppose  you  must  stay. 

Melksham  ;  I  hope  for  both  our  sakes  tliat  it  will  have  abated. 
(Cyrus,  candle  in  hand,  is  holding  open  the  staircase 
door.     Melksham  goes  through.) 

Cyrus ;  Mind  the  stairs.     (Goes   out   after   him.     Their 

footsteps  are  heard  ascending  the  stairs.  Enfield  strides 
over  to  the  staircase  door,  opens  it,  and  calls) 


AND    01  HER    SKETCHES  33 

Enfield  :       Cyrus  ! 

Cyrus  :  (From  a  distance)    Yes,  master  ? 

Enfield  :       What  room  are  you  putting  him  in  ? 

Cyrus  :  (Calliiig)     The  room  at  the  end  of  the  passage. 

(Enfield  closes  the  door) 
Enfield  :       (To  himself)  Oh  ! — What  difference  does  it  make? 
(He   moves   restlessly  about  the    room  ;    kicks   some 

obstacle  out  of  the  way  ;  snufts  the  candle  ;  then  puts 

more  wood  on  the  fire,  and  sits  down  l^efore  it.     Cyrus' 

footsteps  are  heard  descending  the  stairs.     He  comes  in.) 

You  put  him  in  that  low-browed  room  with  iron  bars  to 

the  window  ? 
Cyrus  :  Ay.     Why  should  1  not  ? 

Enfield  :       No  reason.     It's  cold  as   Hades,   but  what  of 

that  ?     I  slept  in  that  room  as  a  boy — And  I  hate  it. 
Cyrus  :  There's  a  bed  in  it.     (Goes  into  the  kitchen  and 

comes  back  with  a  tray  on  which  he  puts  all  the  supper 

things)     'Tis  not  often  that  we  have  visitors  here. 
Enfield  ;       This  is  once  too  often. 
Cyrus  :  (With  a  senile  chuckle)     He  says  to  me,  he  says, 

"  Is  your  master  mad  ?  " 
Enfield  :       What  did  you  say  ? 
Cyrus:  "Not  more  mad  than    this  old  house,"   says  I. 

(Chuckles.) 
Enfield  :       You  should  have  said,  Not  so  mad  as  to  get  lost 

in  a  snow  storm  and  intrude  on  other  people. 
Cyrus  :  (His  tray  ready  piled).     Now,  I  suppose,  you're 

going  to  sit  up  there  till  long  past  midnight  ? 
Enfield  :        Wliat's  it  got  to  do  with  you  how  long  I  choose 

to  sit  here,  hang  you  ?     Be  off  to  your  kitchen  ! 
Cyrus  :  Ay,  I'll  get  me  to  bed.     (Mutters  to   himself :) 

Visitors,  humph.    What's  visitors  got  to  do  with  him  and 

me? 

(Cyrus  carries  the  tray  out,  and  shuts  the  kitchen  door. 

Enfield  leans  forward  and  gazes  despondently  into  the 

fire.     Suddenly   he   starts   round    more   violently    than 

before.) 
Enfield:       (Quickly).     Yes!     (He  rises,  looks  eagerly  round 

as  though  expecting  to  see  someone,  muttering  :)     I  could 


34  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT! 

have  sworn  there  was  somebody  ! — (Seeing  nothing,  he 

resumes  his  seat.     A  deep-toned  clock  chimes  the  hour. 

A  pause.     Then,  from  the  distance  comes  a  wild  yell. 

Enfield  rises  to  his  feet,  Cyrus  comes  in  from  the  kitchen. 

A  door  bangs  in  tlie  distance,  and  footsteps  are  heard 

running  down  the  stairs.) 
Cyrus  :  What's  that  noise  !      Did  ye  hear  it,  master  ? 

Enlield  :        That  fool  upstairs,  I  suppose. 

(Enter  Melksham,  pale,  partly  undressed,  and  carrying 

his  outer  garments.) 
Enfield  :        What's  the  matter  ?      Why  do   you    make   this 

infernal  noise  ?     Can't  you  keep  quiet  in  the  middle  of 

the  night  ? 
Melksham  :  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  this  house  of  yours  is 

haunted  ? 
Enfield  ;        Haunted  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 
Melksham  :  You  know,  well  enough.     (To  Cyrus.)     And  you 

know,  who  put  me  in  the  haunted  chamber. 
Enfield  :        There's  no  room  in  the  house,  haunted.     Cyrus 

have  you  ever  seen  a  ghost  here  ? 
Cyrus  :  No. 

Enfield  :        Nor  I.     And  I  have  lived  here,  man  and  boy,  for 

forty  years.     You've  been  dreaming. 
Melksham  :  I  hadn't  time   to  fall   asleep.     I    tell   you   that 

room's  haunted,  and  nothing  will  induce  me  to  enter  it 

again  ;    so  I  must  ask  you  to  let  me  spend  the  rest  of  the 

night  in  here.    (Puts  on  the  clothes  he  has  been  carrying.) 
Enfield  :        This   is   absurd  !       How   can    there   be   ghosts 

walking  in  my  house  and  I  not  know  it  ?     Come,  speak, 

what  sort  of  a  spectre  do  you  make  it  ? 
Melksham  :  The  ghost  of  a  young  girl,  flinging  herself  against 

the  window-panes,  and  crying  to  be  let  in. 
Enfield  :      The  branch  of  a  tree  scraping  against  the  glass. 
Melksham  :  Perhaps.     But  no  sooner  did  I  lay  me  down  on 
the  bed,  than  in  she  comes,  and  goes  wandering  round 
the  room  ;    and  not  only  did  I  see  her,  but  hear  her,  for 
she  was  wailing  all  the  time  :    '  Roger,  Roger.' 
Cyrus  :  D'ye  hear  that,  master  ?     (To  Melksham)     His 

name's  Roger. 
Enfield  :        He  knows  that,  you  fool. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  35 

Melksham  :  I  did  not  know  it.     I'd  never  heard  the  name 

till  this  g-irl — thing  went  moaning  it  about. 
Eniield  :        Strange — a  girl,  you  say  ?     What  sort  of  a  girl  ? 
Melksham  :  A  wild,  passionate,  black-haired,  young  creature, 

but  deathly  pale — pale  all  over  :  her  clothes  pale,  too. 

Yet  she  stood  as  clear  in  the   moonlight  as  you  stand 

there  now. 
Enfield  :      This   becomes   interesting.       Did   you    hear   the 

description,  Cyrus  ?      Well,  what  more  ?      You  say  you 

heard  her  speak  ? 
Melksham  :  Yes.     She  called  herself  Charlotte. 
Cyrus  :  (startled.)     What  ? 

Enfield:        How  dare  you?    This  grows  past  a  joke  !    You've 

been  listening  to  old  wives'  gossip — that's  plain  enough 

to  see  ;   and  have  come  here  to  play  off  this  tale  on  me. 

Oh  !  it's  a  fine  trick — a  fine,  manly  trick.      You  wished 

to  see  what  I  should  say,  I  suppose  ;   and  how  I  should 

look — that  you  might  go  back  and  tell  them  that  sent 

you.     Go  then,  and  say  that  I  laughed  !     (He  does  not 

manage  a  laugh.) 
Melksham  :  I've  been  listening  to  no  gossip.     I  liardly  know 

a  soul  in  this  countryside.     I  told  you  just  now  simply 

what  I  saw  and  heard. 
Enfield  :        (controlling  himself)     Go  on. 
Melkshem  :  No.     I  don't  choose  to  be  called  a  liar. 
Enfield  :        You  must    finish    now    that    you've   got  so    far. 

You  say  that  you  saw  this  girl — wild,  black  hair,  didn't 

you  say  ? 
Melksham  :  Yes. 
Cyrus  :  That's  her. 

Enfield  :        Be  quiet,  you   fool  ! — That  you  heard — that  she 

wandered  about  and  wailed — wailed  !  what  do  you  mean 

by  that  ?     She  was  used  to  demand  tilings  imperiously. 
Melksham  :  She  went  about  the  room  with  a  low,  moaning 

cry,  "  Roger,  Roger  " — just  like  that. 
Enfield  :        Do  you    mark  that,  Cyrus  ? — But  how  did  you 

know  that  her  name  was — that  ? 
Melksham  :  Charlotte  ? 
Enfield  :        (under  his  breath)  Hang  you  ! 
Melksham  :  Well,  she  came  up  to  the  bed,  and  began  finger- 


36  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

ing  about  the  pillow — the  thought  of  her  chills  my  blood 
even  now,  I  yelled  out  '  Wlio's  there  ? '  'It's  Charlotte 
Roger,'  she  wailed  '  It's  Charlotte.'  Then  she  put  her 
hand  on  mine,  and  I  couldn't  feel  the  touch,  except  for 
its  chill.  I  started  up  with  my  hair  on  end,  and  was 
down  those  stairs  in  a  twinkling,  with  no  thought  for  my 
neck. 

Enfield  :       Give  me  that  candle.     I'm  going  up  to  see. 

Cyrus  :  Shall  I  come  with  you  ? 

Enfield:       No,    I'm   going   alone.      Hang  this  grease  I    its 
spilling  over  everything.     (He  goes  out.) 

Cyrus  :  He'll  see  nothing.     If  there'd  been  ghosts,  he'd 

'a'  seen  them  before.  What  did  ye  say  ? — A  wild, 
troUoping,  ill-tempered  hussy,  did  ye  not  ? 

Melksham  :  I  said  "  wild." 

Cyrus  :  'Tis  she,  sure  enough.     (Sniggers  and  nods  his 

head  wisely.)  'Twould  be  but  natural.  (In  a  different 
tone.)  'Tis  the  first  I've  heard  of  any  ghosts.  He  won't 
be  pleased  with  you  raking  up  these  ghosts. 

Melksliam  :  I  can't  help  tliat.     (Makes  himsell'  c«mfortable 
before  the  tire.) 

Cyrus  :  And,  see  here,  better  not  ask  him  any  questions. 

Melksham  :  I'm  not  likely  to. 

Cyrus  :  He's  not  mad  but  he's  violent.     Very  violent  in 

his  moods,  he  is.     (goes  back  to  the  kitchen.     A  pause.) 

Charlotte  :     (without)  Roger  !     Roger  ! 

Melksham  :  (starting  up)  There  it  is  again  ! 

(The  ghost  of  Charlotte  flings  itself  agaiwst  the  window) 

Charlotte  :     Let  me  in  !     Oh  let  me  come  in  1 

Melksham  :  No,  I  will  not  let  you  in.     (hastens  to  window 

and  draws  curtain  across.    Going  towards  staircase  door.) 

Roger  ! — Whatever — you — call — yourself  !   Comedown! 

(The  ghost  of  Charlotte  gHdes  in  through  the  wall  and 

stands  quite  still  behind  him.) 

Melksham  :  Ah  !  (With  his  hand  on  the  staircase  door,  he 
forces  himself  to  turn  and  face  the  apparition.)  Who 
and  what  are  you  ?     Speak  ! 

Charlotte  :     It  is  very  cold  in  the  grave. 

Melksham  :  I  suppose  it  must  be. 

Charlotte  :     Deadly  cold,     (she  does  riot  seem  to  see  what 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  37 

she  is  looking  at,  and  has  a  Huttering  way  of  standing,  as 
though  at  any  moment  she  might  rise  in  the  air  or  fade 
away.) 

Melksham  :  Poor  creature  ! 

Charlotte  :  It  is  vast,  so  vast  !  And  dark  :  there  is  no  light 
anywhere. 

Melksham  :  Why  doesn't  the  man  come  down  ?  (calls  up  the 
stairs)  :    Roger  ! 

Charlotte  :  (Going  close  and  speaking  like  a  plaintive  child.) 
I  can't  find  Roger  ! 

Melksham  :  (Throwing  open  the  door)  :    He's  up  those  stairs. 

Charlotte :  I  can't  tind  Roger,  (she  goes  towards  the 
kitchen,  calling)  :  Roger  !  Roger  !  (The  door  opens 
before  she  gets  to  it,  and  she  goes  into  the  kitchen,  but 
comes  out  again  almost  at  once,  still  calling)  :    Roger  ! 

Melksham :  I  tell  you  Roger's  upstairs.  (He  leaves  the 
staircase  door  open,  and  moves  away  to  the  centre  of  the 
room.  Charlotte  goes  to  the  door,  which  shuts  before 
her.  She  moves  her  hands  over  it  as  though  trying 
vainly  to  open  it,  then  turns  towards  Melksham) : 

Charlotte  :     Is  there  no  Roger  ? 

Melksham  :  You'll  tind  him  through  that  door. 

Charlotte  :  There  is  no  Roger  in  the  grave.  (She  moves 
away  from  the  door  saying)  :  There  is  no  Roger.  (When 
she  comes  to  where  Melksham  is  standing,  she  pauses  to 
say  to  him)  :  If  you  find  Roger,  tell  liim  that  I  have 
been  looking  for  him  these  15  years.  (Melksham  goes 
quickly  towards  the  staircase  door.) 

Charlotte  :  (In  a  low  moaning  voice)  :  Roger  !  Oh,  Roger. 
I  can't  find  Roger  ! 

Melksham  :  (Turning  in  the  doorway  to  look  at  her,  exclaims) : 
Wretched  creature,  what  sins  are  on  your  soul  that  you 
walk  thus  in  the  night  ? 

Charlotte  :  Hark  !  do  you  hear  that  ?  'Tis  the  sound  of  a 
horse  galloping. 

Melksham  :  There  is  nothing  to  be  heard  but  the  wild  voice 
of  the  wind. 

Charlotte  :  (With  increasing  fright  :)  He  is  coming.  It  is 
he  !  it  is  he  ! — Roger,  you  must  come  and  help  me.  I  am 
here  alone  ! 


38  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Melksham  :  Who  is  coming  ? 

Charlotte:  Roger,  help  me  .  .  .  If  he  comes — If  he  comes — 
(She  draws  herself  up  with  an  air  of  having  made  up  her 
mind  to  some  deadly  purpose,  then  suddenly  shrieks) — 
Stop  him  !  Stop  him  !  keep  him  out  !  (Rushes  swiftly 
to  the  outer  door-  and  flings  herself  against  it  with 
outstretched  arms.  Both  leaves  of  the  door  open  inwards, 
in  spite  of  her  arms,  and  with  a  wail  she  goes  through  into 
the  night.  Melksham  takes  out  a  handkerchief  and  mops 
his  brow.     Enfield  comes  back.) 

Enheld  :  (Putting  the  candle  down  on  the  table.)  There's 
nobody,  and  nothing,  there.  I've  searched  and  called 
till  my  brain  reels.  Either  you've  been  dreaming,  or  else 
you've  trumped  up  this  tale  to  play  it  off  on  me,  as  I 
thought  first. 

Melksham  :  Think  as  you  please.  I'm  going  to  make  myself 
comfortable  here  for  the  night.    (Seats  himself  by  the  fire.) 

Enfield  :  If  I  thought  that  I  would — 

Melksham  :  Then  you  don't  really  think  that? 

Enfield  :  At  least  tell  me  this.  How  much  do  you  know 
about  me  ? 

Melksham  :  I  know  that  you're  a  cynical,  unfriendly  churl, 
and  that  I've  learned  this  evening.  I'd  never  so  much 
as  heard  of  you  till  I  crossed  your  unlucky  threshhold 
to-night,  nor  of  your  daughter  either. 

Enfield  :        My— daughter. 

Melksham  :  Your  wife. — This  apparition. 

Enfield  :  She  was  not  my  wife.  She  was  never  in  any  way 
mine. 

Melksham  :  I  beg  you  pardon.  I  was  not  trying  to  find  out 
tlie  relationship  ;  but,  as  you  see,  I  know  nothing  about 
her. 

Enfield:       Then  you  must  have  seen  her  .  .  .  Great  Heaven  ! 

Melksham  :  I  have  seen  her  twice — a  female  figure,  as  clear 
and  distinct  as  you  are  now.  There  was  nothing  but  the 
unearthly  light  about  her.  and  the  chill  that  she  sent 
through  me,  to  betray  that  she  was  not  of  this  world. 

Enfield  :  You  have  seen  her  :  actually  seen  her  .  .  .  You 
say  that  you've  seen  her  twice  ? 

Melksham  :  Yes.     She  came  in  here  while  you  were  upstairs. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.'  39 

Enfield  :        In  here  ?     Then  tell  me,  if  you  can,  why  should 
you  see  her  and  not  I,  when  it  is  because  of  me  that  she 
cannot  rest  ? 
Melksham  :  I  told  you  that  I've  got  second  sight. 
Enfield  :        I  have  often  fancied  that  if  I  turned  quickly  I 
should  see  her,  or  that  I  could  feel  her  yearning  for  me 
— but  when  I  turned  round  she  was  never  there.     And 
you,  a  stranger,  have  seen  her  twice  I    (Calls) :  Charlotte  I 
is  this  treating  me  fairly  ?     (To  Melksham)  .-     How  did 
she  look  ? 
Melksham  :  Pale  and  unhappy. 

Enfield  :  Of  course  she  did.  She  is  wanting  me  as  I  want 
her.  There  has  never  been  a  time  when  anyone  else 
counted  with  either  of  us. — But  wailing  .  .  .  wailing  I — 
that's  unlike  her.  Do  you  think  that  death — the  mere 
fact  of  death — could  have  broken  her  courage  ? 
Melksham  :  That's  impossible  to  say.     She  did  not  look  to 

me  like  one  happy  beyond  the  grave. 
Enfield  :       Tell  me  all  that  happened  when  she  came  in  here. 
Melksham  :  She  went  about  calling  and  seeking,  I  suppose, 

for  you. 
Enfield  :       Yes,  for  me. 

Melksham  :  Then   she   seemed   to   hear   a   sound  of  horses 
approaching,  and  took  fright  that  someone  was  coming 
through  that  door. 
Enfield  :        Ah  !     Yes.     Did  he  come  in  ? 
Melksham  :  No,  I  saw  no  one.     She  flung  herself  against  the 

door  to  keep  him  out,  and  then  disappeared. 
Enfield  :  'Twas  her  husband. — They  tricked  her,  and  he 
tricked  her,  into  marrying  him.  Think  of  it  !  ...  She 
was  almost  afraid  of  him.  He  almost  broke  her  spirit. 
There  -came  a  time  when  she  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  she  ran  away  from  him — all  across  the  moors,  alone 
— to  me.  And  on  that  night,  of  all  nights  in  the  year,  I 
was  away.  I  do  not  go  into  town  for  months  and  months 
on  end,  but  I  was  away  that  night  when  she  needed  me. 
Melksham  :  She  called  to  you  for  help. 

Enfield  :  Did  she  ?  I  like  to  think  that.  She  was  too 
proud  to  have  asked  help  from  anyone  but  me. — He 
followed   her   and   found   her  here   before  I  got  back. 


4©  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

You  say  that  she  heard  his  horses  and  was  afraid  ?  I  do 
not  believe  that.  She  was  afraid  of  nothing. — She  may 
have  learnt  fear  now.  I  do  not  know  what  they  may 
have  done  to  her  since  she  left  us  all  those  years  ago. 

Melksham  :  You  say  that  he  found  her  here  ? 

Enfield  :  Yes.  It  was  in  this  room.  I  don't  know  what 
they  said  ;  he  tried  to  drag  her  back  with  him — the 
brute  I — but  she  seized  my  pistol  from  that  drawer  and 
shot  herself. 

Melksham  :  Daad  ? 

Enfield  :       She  did  not  die  till  I  came  back.     She  could  not 
have  died  without  me.     (Takes  a  pistol  from  a  drawer  in 
the  small  table)     This  is  the  pistol. 
(The  ghost  of  Charlotte  glides  in  through  the  outer  door) 

Melksham  :  Hush  ! — don't  you  see  ? — Can  you  see  nothing  ? 

Enfield  :        No.     Where  ?— What  is  it  ? 

Melksham  :  She  has  come  in,  there,  through  that  door  ! — 
perhaps  as  she  came  on  that  day  to  find  you — 

Enfield  :        Is  there  no  devil  that  will  open  my  eyes  ? 

Melksham  :  She  is  looking  for  you. 

Enfield  :  What  does  she  want  ?  Can  I  help  her  ? — Must 
I  always  fail  her  ? 

Melksham  :  There  ! 

Enfield  :  Why  can  you  see  her  and  not  I  ?  Charlotte, 
where  are  you  ? 

Melksham  :  Take  my  hand.     Now,  look  ! — there  ! 

Enfield:        (His  excitement  subdued)  Charlotte  1 

Charlotte  :  (Seeing  him  at  the  same  time,  and  standing  still) 
Roger  ! 

Enfield  :  How  my  eyes  have  hungered  for  you  ! — the  first 
time  for  fifteen  years.  You  are  the  same.  Your  eyes 
are  less  bright.  You  have  suffered — Ah  ! — Charlotte, 
you  have  suffered  and  I  have  known  nothing,  shut  up  in 
this — oh  1    in  this —  .  .  .  Charlotte,  speak  to  me. 

Charlotte  :     Roger  ! 

Enfield  :  Can  I  touch  you  ?  I  must  !  I  must  hold  you  in 
my  arms. 

Charlotte:  (Impelled  back  as  he  advances)  No!  no!  keep 
back.     You  will  drive  me  out. 

Enfield  :       There's  so  much  to  ask  you.     Did  you  feel  my 


AND    OTHER   SKETCHES.  41 

agony  as  your  last  breath  died  on  my  cheek  ?     Why  did 

you   give   me  no   sign  ?      Were  you  mocking   at   me  ? 

You  were  always  a  mocking  creature. 
Charlotte  :     Could  you  not  have  kept  me  alive  ? 
Enfield  :       No,  I  couldn't.     I  swear  I  couldn't, — Charlotte  ! 

(He  rushes  at  her,  but  with  a  wail  she  goes  before  him 

out  through  the  door.     He  stops  at  the  door  :  it  is  bolted. 

He  calls  again)  :   Charlotte  !     (Then  he  draws  the  bolts 

and  rushes  out  after  her.) 
Melksham  :  Come  back  !     You'll  never   find  her.     She   has 

vanished  into  the  night.     God  have  mercy  on  their  souls  ! 

(He   drops   on   his  knees  and   tries  to   pray.      Enfield 

comes  back.) 
Enfield  :       She  is  wandering  about  in  the  night  alone  and  I 

cannot  help  her.     What  are  you  doing  ? 
Melksham  :  Praying  for  her  soul. 
Enfield  :       Praying   for    a    soul    so    wild    and    strong    as 

Charlotte's  ?    You    might  as  well  pray  that  the   storm 

outside  will  cease  raging.     Was  that  a  cry  ? 
Melksham  :  (Getttng  to  his  feet)  No. 
Enfield  :       She  cannot  rest.     I  have  always  known  it,  but 

now  I  see  it.     We  put  her  under   the  ground,  but   she 

cannot  rest. 
Melksham :  How  should  she  rest,  with  the  sin  of  self-murder 

on  her  soul. 
Enfield  :       You  mean  that  because  she  took  her  life,  she  is 

forced  to  wander  through  the  night  like  this  ?     Forced  ! 

Charlotte,  whom  no  one  could  force  to  do  anything  while 

she  was  alive  ! 
Melksham  :  I  do  mean  it.     How  can  we  hope  that  her  soul, 

dying  in  that  awful  sin,  could  escape  hell  ? 
Enfield  :       You  are  a  parson.     You  should  know  about  it. 
Melksham  :  I  do  know.     'Tis  the  last,  most  rebellious  of  all 

crimes.     I  must  say  it,  though  I  pity  her  and  you,  from 

the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
Enfield  :        Don't  waste  your  pity.     I  want  none  of  it.     Nor 

would  she.     (Takes  the  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and  looks 

at  it.) 
Melksham  :  Come,   kneel   down   with   me,   and  let  us  pray 

together. 


42  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Enfield  :  Pray  ?— No.  This  is  the  pistol  she  did  it  with. 
Her  little  fingers — little,  but  strong,  too — held  this  handle. 
Hark !  she  is  calling  me  (He  strides  to  the  window, 
flings  it  open,  and  calls)  :  Charlotte  !  I  am  coming. 
Wait. 

Melksham  :  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

Enfield  :  I  am  going  to  join  her.  (He  shoots  himself. 
Melksham  hurries  to  his  side,  ascertains  that  he  is  dead, 
and  goes  out  to  the  kitchen  to  find  Cyrus.) 

Curtain. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES. 


43 


BLUEBEARD. 

AN    OLD    TALE    RE-TOLD. 


CHARACTERS  : 

F  ATI  MA  : 

Bluebeard's  wife. 

ANN: 

Her  elder  sister. 

ZULEIKA  : 

Her  slave. 

ABDUL  : 

Another  slave. 

HASSAN  : 

A  Nubian  chief  of  Bluebeard's  slaves 

SCENE  . 
An  upper  chamber  in  an  Arabian  palace. 


,  SCENE : — A  luxurious  and  airy  chamber,  furnished  with 
Eastern  splendour,  at  the  top  of  a  great  palace.  On  the 
right,  rich  curtains  mask  an  archway.  On  the  left,  a 
pillared  opening  reveals  a  stone  balcony  (which  overlooks 
the  courtyard  of  the  palace).  At  the  back,  a  great 
triple-arched  window-opening  shows  the  sky. 

Near  this  window,  Fatima  lounges  idly  on  a  sofa. 
She  is  a  lovely  and  slender  little  creature,  hardly  more 
than  a  child.  Beside  her  couch  is  a  low  table,  on  which 
stand  a  dish  of  sweetmeats  and  a  hand  mirror. 

Zuleika,  a  youngish  and  goodlooking  slave-girl,  sits  on 
a  cushion  in  the  left-front  corner  of  the  room,  twanging 
a  musical  instrument. 


44  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

At  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  Fatima  yawns  and  sits  up 

straighter  so  that  she  can  look  out  of  the  window. 
Fatima  :         What  a  long,  hot  afternoon  !  Zuleika,  how  am  I 

to  amuse  myself  till  my  husband  comes  back  ? 
Zuleika  :  You  are  very  hard  to  amuse,  mistress. 
Fatima  :         No,  I'm  not.     I'm  easy  to  amuse.     But  what  is 

the  use  of  being  married  when  your  husband's  away  ? 
(Zuleika  twangs  a  few  idle  notes) 
Fatima  :        (Rising)     Do  you  think  he  will  be  away  much 

longer  ? 
Zuleika  ;         That  one  can't  say. 

(Fatima  selects  a  sweetmeat  and  nibbles  at  it  as  she 

stands  leaning  against  the  window-opening,  gazing  out) 
Fatima  :         The  shadows  are  a  little  longer  than  they  were 

an  hour  ago.     Arn't  shadows  slow  things,  Zuleika  ? 
Zuleika  :         Very  slow,  when  you're  watching  them. 
Fatima  :         I  like  them.     They  all  lean  this  way  from  the 

west     Later,  they  will  be  like  long,  black  fingers  pointing 

towards   us.      (Leaving   the   window)     Where  are   my 

keys,  Zuleika  ? 
Zuleika  :         Where  did  you  leave  them  ? 
Fatima  :         Never   mind   where  I  left   them.     You  should 

have  put  them  away  for  me. — Oh  !  there  they  are,  on 

that  cupboard. 
Zuleika  :         (Fetching  the  keys)     You  must  take  better  care 

than  that  of  Bluebeard's  keys. 
Fatima  :         I  can  take  care  of  them.     (Holds  up  the  bunch 

with  one  key  pointing  upward)     Look,   Zuleika,    what 

key  is  this  ? 
Zuleika  :         The  key  of  the  Hall  of  Painted  Dragons. 
Fatima  :         No.     Don't  you  really  know  what  key  it  is  ? — 

The  key  of  the  little  closet  I  mayn't  go  into. 
Zuleika  :         Yes.     I  thought  it  was  that  one. 
Fatima  :         Don't  you  wish  you  knew  what  was  inside  ? — 

Of  course  I  wouldn't  open  it  for  anything.     I  know  better 

than  that  how  to  look  after  my  husband's  keys;  besides, 

he'd  be  most  dreadfully  angry,  wouldn't  he  ?     I  wonder 

how  he'd  know  if  I  did  go  in  ? 
Zuleika  :         Perhaps   he   would   never   find   out.      But,   of 

course,  he  might,  and  then — 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  45 

Fatima  :  Yes.  .  .  .  (She  rises  and  moves  away)  it's  so 
still,  I  do  believe  everybody  in  the  palace  is  asleep. 
(She  chooses  another  sweetmeat)  He  may  come  back 
any  day,  now,  Znleika.  I  wonder  what  he  will  bring  me 
when  he  does  come  ?  He's  sure  to  bring  me  a  present, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  I  hope  it  will  be  some  amber  beads. 
I  do  want  some  amber  beads  so  badly.  I  shall  never  be 
happy  till  I  have  an  amber  necklace. 

Zuleika  :  You  have  many  necklaces  far  more  precious 
than  amber. 

Fatima  :  I  can't  help  it.  I  want  amber.  I  want  heaps  of 
amber  :  amber  chains,  and  an  amber  footstool,  and  an 
amber  spoon  to  eat  with.  (Sitting  down  again  beside 
Zuleika)  Zuleika  !  do  you  think  that  perhaps  there  are 
amber  things  in  the  little  closet  ? 

Zuleika  :         I  don't  know.    I  can't  think  what  can  be  inside  it. 

Fatima  :  Don't  you  wish  that  we  knew  ?  I  can't  think  of 
anything  more  precious  than  diamonds,  and  glittering 
tapestries,  and  veils  woven  of  gold.  If  it  were  the 
Peacock  Room  that  was  closed,  I  could  understand  it, 
for  I  have  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful  than  their 
lustrous  wings,  and  all  the  lovely  httle  strange  things  in 
the  cupboards.  But  these  we  are  allowed  to  look  at. 
What  can  be  more  wonderful  ! 

Zuleika  :  I  have  heard  of  singing  trees,  and  of  water  that 
makes  old  people  young. 

Fatima  :  In  fairy  tales.  There  are  no  real  singing  trees, 
are  there,  Zuleika  ? 

Zuleika  :         I  have  never  seen  any. 

Fatima :  (Rising  slowly,  and  speaking  with  a  certain 
hesitation)  I  think  I'll  go  and  look  at  some  of  the  old 
rooms  again.  Of  course,  I  won't  go  into  that  one. 
Wait  here  for  me,  Zuleika,  I  won't  be  long. 

(She  goes  out.  Zuleika  rises,  goes  to  the  curtains,  and 
peeps  out  after  her.  Then  she  turns  back  into  the  room 
as  Ann  comes  in  from  the  balcony) 

Ann  :  (Calling  as  she  enters)    Fatima  ! — Zuleika,  where 

is  your  mistress  ? 

Zuleika  :  She  went  out  with  lier  bunch  -of  keys  to  explore 
the  palace.   (Goes  back  to  her  cushion  and  her  instrument) 


46  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Ann  :  Has  that  game  not  begun  to  pall  yet  ?     She  told 

me  that  she  had  been  into  all  the  rooms,  and  was  tired 

even  of  the  most  beautiful. 
Zuleika  :         (Not  looking  at  Ann)     She  is  restless,  and  im- 
patient for  her  husband's  return. 
Ann  :  I  could  almost  wish  that  he  would  come,  although 

when  he  does  come  I  must  go. — Did  you  notice  which 

way  she  went  ? 
Zuleika  :         Along  the  gallery  to  the  western  tower. 
Ann  :  Where  the  forbidden  closet  is  ? 

Zuleika  :         I  think  it's  there,  isn't  it  ? 
Ann  :  She   wouldn't   be   foolish   enough   to  open  it  ! 

Something  hangs  over  my  spirits  this  afternoon,  like  a 

cloud  hanging  under  the  sun. 
Zuleika  :         Shall  I  play  to  you,  Mistress  Ann  ? 
Ann  :  ,  No — I  will  fight  it  down.     I  am  not  a  child  to 

be  depressed  by  causeless  fancies. 

(She  goes   to   the   window   and   looks  out.     Zuleika 

watches  her  stealthily,  starting  when  she  thinks  she  hears 

a  noise  from  behind  the  curtains.) 
Ann  :  The  heat  hangs  quivering  in  the  air.     There  is 

not  so  much  as  a  breath  of  wind  to  refresh  us.     Zuleika, 

what  would  I  not  give  to  see  my  brothers  riding  to  us 

across  the  plain,  with  their  helmets  glittering,  and  their 

strong  bare  arms  ! 
Zuleika  :         (Rising,  her  uneasiness  growing)  I  would  they 

were  coming.  Mistress  Ann. 
Ann  :  'Tis  but  a  silly  whim  :   but,  you  know,  they  are 

often  hunting  in  the  Valley  of  Red  Cactus  at  this  time  of 

the  year.    If  they  were  there,  it  would  not  be  so  very  far 

for  them  to  come.     Call  Abdul  for  me  ! 

(Zuleika  strikes  a  little  gong  with  her  knuckles,  Abdul 

comes  in  through  the  small  door  on  the  left). 
Ann  :  Abdul,  set  a  slave  on  the  swiftest  horse  and  bid 

him  ride  hotfoot  for  the  Valley  of  Red  Cactus  and  there 

seek  for  my  brothers.     If  he  find  them,  let  him  bid  them 

come  to  me  in  all  haste.     And  give  him  this  ring  for 

token. 
(Gives  Abdul  a  ring.    He  bows  and  withdraws,  Zuleika 

takes  the  opportunity  of  peering  through  the   curtains 

after  him.) 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  47 

Ann  :  There  !     I  hav.e   obeyed  the   idlest  whitn   that 

ever  crossed  a  woman's  fancy.     And  I  feel  the  happier 

for  it. 

(She  sits  down) 
Zuleika  :         Mistress  Ann,  do  you  hear  anything  ? 
Ann  :  No. 

Zuleika  :         What  do  you  suppose  would  happen  if  the  lady 

Fatima  were  to  enter  the  forbidden  closet  ? 
Ann  :  Ruin  !    You  know  wiiat  Bluebeard  is — you  know 

what  he  said.     Do  you  think  she  will  be  tempted  ? 
Zuleika  :         She  was  very  curious. 

Ann  :  She  is  only  a  child.     She  has  a  child's  curiosity. 

Zuleika  :         Do   go   after  her,  mistress.     I    think   slie   may 

mean  to  go  in,  and  I  wouldn't  for  twenty  ducats  that 

harm  should  come  to  her. 
Ann  :  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before  ?  (Rises  to  go) 

Fatima  :         (From  without)    Ann  I     Ann  ! 

(She  rushes  in  through  the  curtains) 

Sister  Ann  !     Oh  !    there  you  are. 

(Runs  to  her  sister's  arms) 
Ann  :  What  is  it  little  sister  ?     What's  the  matter  ? 

Fatima  :  Oh  !     Ann,  I'm  so  frightened.     I  have  been  so 

frightened,  I  think  I  will  die. 
Ann  :  What's  the  matter  ?     Tell  me  quietly  what  it  is. 

Don't  tremble  so.     I'm  here  to  take  care  of  you. 
Fatima  :  Oh  !     Ann,  it  was  so  dreadful.     Don't  scold  me. 

I  went  into  the  forbidden  closet. 
Ann  :  Fatima  ! 

Zuleika  :         Mistress  !    mistress  !    your   slippers  !    they  are 

stained — they  are  red. 
Fatima  :         It's  blood.     The  floor  was  thick  with  blood. 
Zuleika  :         Oh  !    mercy  ! 

Fatima  :         There  were  no   singing  birds,  Zuleika,  no  dia- 
monds, nothing  pretty  ;    but  all  round   the   walls — Oh 

Ann  !    it  turns  me  cold  to  tliink  of  it  ! — all  round  the  walls, 

hanging   by   their  hair,   were   the   heads   of  murdered 

women. 

(Zuleika  gives  a  little  shriek) 
Fatima  :        With  their  eyes  all  open  !     I  know  I  shall  see 

them  staring  sCi  tne  until  I  die. 


48  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT f 

Ann  :  No,  you  won't. 

Zuleika  :        But  what  will  Bluebeard  say   when   he  comes 

back  ? 
Fatima  :         Oh  !   what  shall  I  do  ?     What  shall  I  do  ? 
Ann  :  He  must  never  know  that  you  went   in.     We 

won't  let  him  know.     Come,  we'll  think  it  out  quietly. 

Zuleika,  take  these  slippers  away  and  let  them  be  burnt. 
(Zuleika  takes  out  the  slippers,  Ann   and  Fatima  sit 

down  together.) 

Now,  tell  me,  little  sister,  do  you  think  that  anyone  could 

have  seen  you  enter  the  closet  ? 
Fatima  :         No,  I'm  quite  sure  there  was  nobody  about. 
Ann  :  Why,  that's  alright.     And  did  you  lock  the  door 

after  you  ? 
Fatima :         I  don't  know.     I  can't  remember.     I   was  so 

frightened,  I  just  ran. 
Ann  :  Give  me  the  keys.    I  will  go  and  see  if  it  is  locked. 

Fatima :         The   keys  ?     I  must  have  dropped  them.     Oh, 

Ann,  they  are  in  that  dreadful  room  !     Zuleika,  you  must 

go  and  fetch  my  keys  for  me. 

(Zuleika  has  just  come  in,  carrying  a  bowl,  a  napkin, 

and  fresh  slippers.) 
Zuleika  :         No,  mistress,  I  implore  you.     Not  if  you  were 

to  kill  me,  I  couldn't  go  and  look  at  those  horrors. 
Ann  :  I'll  go.     First,  drink  this,  Fatima    .    .    .    That's 

better — you   look   more  like  yourself  again,      Zuleika 

bring  your  mistress  clean  slippers  and  let  these  stained 

ones  be  burnt. 
Fatima  :         Ann,  don't  be  long. 
Ann  :  I  won't  be  a  minute. 

(Ann  goes  out  through  the  curtains.     Zuleika  sits  on 

the  floor  and  bathes  Fatima's  feet.) 
Zuleika  ;        To  think  of  it  being  so  locked  up  !     I  thought 

at  least  there  must  be  some  wonderful  treasure. 
Fatima  :         Zuleika,  who  do  you  think  were  those  women 

and  how  did  they  die  ? 
Zuleika  :         They  were  killed,  I  expect. 
Fatima  :         Yes,  but  how  ? 

Zuleika:        That  one  can't  say.   Why  your  feet  are  quite  cold. 
Fatima:         I  am  cold  all  over.    I'm  all  shivery  and  frightened. 


AND    07  HER    SKETCHES.  49 

Zuleika  :        It's  a  pity  you   went  in.     Especially   as   there 

was  nothing  pretty  to  be  seen. 
Fatima  :         What  do  you  think  my  husband  would  say  if  he 

knew  ? 
Zuleika  :         (Shaking  her  head)     Husband's  are  strange  folk. 

I  told  you  that  when  you  got  married.     They  like  to  be 

obeyed.     Now,  I  should  say  that  no  one  Iiad  ever  dis- 
obeyed my  lord  Bluebeard. 
Fatima  :         I  have  always  obeyed  him  up  till  now, 
Zuleika  :         Up  till  now,  yes. 

Fatima  :         Don't  talk  oi  him.     Tell  me  about  other  husbands. 
Zuleika  :         There  was  a  sultan,  so  I've  heard,  who  married 

a  new  wife  every  morning  and  cut  off  her  head  next  day. 
Fatima  :         What  did  he  do  that  for  ? 
2uleika  :         I  don't  know.     Then  there  was  another  whose 

wife   disobeyed  him.     He  flew  into  a  dreadful  passion 

and  seized  the  unfortunate  lady  by  the  head— 
Fatima  :        Stop  !  Zuleika — Don't  tell  me  any  more. 
Zuleika:         Oh!    but   it's   true.     I've  seen   the   very   man. 

They  say  he  grew  quite  livid  with  rage  and  gnashed  his 

great  teeth — 
Fatima  :         (Getting  to  her  feet)     Oh  !  stop  !     I  can't  bear 

it.     I  have  been  married  such  a  little  while  and  I  was 

so  happy. 
Zuleika  :         And  so  young. 

Fatima  :         Why  shouldn't  I  be  young  ?     I  will  get  older. 
Zuleika  :         That  sultana  I  was  telling  you  about  was  very 

young,  too,  and  when  her  husband  drew  out  his  great 

shining  scimitar — 
Fatima :         Zuleika,    I    forbid   you   to   go   on.      Oh  !    wliy 

doesn't  Atm  come  ! — What's  that  noise  ? 
Zuleika  :         It's  in  the  court-yard.     Shall  I  go  and  see  what 

it  is? 
Fatima  :         Yes.  go. 

(Zuleika  puts  the  bowl  and  napkin  on  a  table,  goes  out 

on  to  the  balcony,  and  looks  down.     Meanwhile,  Ann 

comes  in,  concealing  the  blood-stained  keys  from  Fatima) 
Fatima  :         Sister  Ann,  at  last !     Have  you  got  the  keys  ? 
Ann  :  Yes. 

Fatima  :         And  vou've  locked  the  door  ?     Then  no  one  need 


50  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

ever   know    that    I've   been  in — Oh  I    I'm    so    thankful. 

Sister  Ann,  Zuleika's  been  frightening  me  with  the  most 

horrid  tales. 
Zuleika  :         Mistress,  come  and  see  here.     It's  so  exciting  ! 
Ann  :  What's  all  that  clamonr  ?     It  sounds  like  people 

arriving. 
Fatima  :         Ann  !  the  keys  are  red  with  blood  ! 
Ann  :  You  dropped  them  on  the  floor,  but  we'll  soon 

wash  them.     Zuleika  ! 
Zuleika  :         (Coming  into  the  room)     You  must   come  and 

see,    mistress.     Guess    what   has   happened  !     (Catches 

sight  of  the  keys)     La  ! 
Ann  :  Take  these  keys  and  wash  them  quickly. 

Zuleika  :         Yes,  but  look  over  the  balconv  !     Bluebeard  has 

arrived. 
Fatima  :         Bluebeard  ! 
Ann:  What! 

Fatima  :         There  must  be  some  mistake.     Sister  Ann,  don't 

go  and  look.     Don't  let  him  see  me. 
Ann  :  He  shan't  see  you,  I-atmia.     Don't  be  afraid. 

Zuleika  :         (Washing   the   keys  in  her    bowl)     There's  no 

mistake.     The  court-yard  is  tilled  with  his  men.     They 

look  weary,  as  though  they  had  ridden  far  across  the  hot 

plain  ;  but  they  have  come  back  victorious  for  they  are 

laden  with  rich  spoils,  and  they  have  pale  captives  with 

them,  bound  by  the  wrists — 
Fatima  :         But  did  you  see  my  husband  with  them  ?     Are 

you  sure  he  was  there  ? 
Zuleika  :         Quite  certain. — He  stood  frowning  by  the  arch- 
way,   a  sunbeam  lighting  up  his  helmet   and    his   blue 

beard  flowing  over  his  bosom.     His  left  hand  was  resting 

thus  on  his  great  scimitar. 
Fatima  :         Oh  !  why  has  he  come  back  just  this  afternoon  ? 
Ann  :  All  will  be  well,  Fatima.     Trust  to  me. 

Zuleika  :         Mistress  Ami,  I  can't  get  these  keys  clean. 
Ann  :  Give  me  the   bowl — go  quickly   and   get  more 

hot  water. 

(Zuleika  goes  out  by  the  small  door) 
Fatima  :         Wash  them  quite  clean,  Ann — he's  sure  to  ask 

me  for  them  at  once.     You  know,  he  won't  be  pleased 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  51 

to  find  you  here.     He  said  you  might  come  and  keep  me 

company  while  he  was  away,  but  he  hoped  you  would 

be  gone  when  he  returned. 
Ann  :  Well,  he  sent  us  no  notice  of  his  coming. 

Fatima  :         You  won't  leave  me,  will  you,  sister  Ann  ? 
Ann  :  Not  till  all  your  tears  are  over,  little  sister. 

Fatima  :         I  wonder  when  he  will  send  for  me  ? — I  hope 

not  soon. 
(Enter  Zuleika  with  a  large  pitcher  and  a  basket) 
Here's  Zuleika. 
Zuleika  :         I  have    brought    water,    and  soap,    and  soda — 

everything  I  could  think  of  to  make  them  clean. 
Ann  :  Then  throw  this  dirty  water  out  of  the  window. 

(Zuleika  takes  the  bowl  and  empties  water  out  of  the 

window.     The  sound  of  a  gong  is  heard) 
Hassan  :         (From  without)     May  one  enter  ? 
Fatima  :         Enter. 

(He  comes  in  througli  the  curtains  and  salaams) 
Hassan  :         My  master,  Bluebeard,  has  returned,  and  desires 

your  presence  immediately. 
Fatima  :         Sister  Ann,    I  can't  go  yet. — Put  it  off  a  little 

while. 
Ann  :  Hassan,  go  back  and  tell  your  master  that  the 

lady  Fatima  cannot  come  just  yet.     She  is  troubled  with 

faintness.     When  she  feels  better  she  will  come. 
(Hassan  salaams  again  and  waits) 
Ann  :  W^ell,  what  are  you  waiting  for  ? 

Hassan  :         Is  that  a  message  to  take  Bluebeard  ?     When 

he  gives  an  order  it  must  be  obeyed. 
Zuleika  :         Hasten,  slave!  that  message  is  from  your  mistress. 
Hassan  :         1  am  here  on  Bluebeard's  commands. 
Fatima  :         Hassan,    will    you  not  take  that  message  from 

me  ?     See,  I  am  ill  ! 
Hassan  ;         If  I  were  to   take  Bluebeard   that   message,    I 

should  not  come  back  again  to  fetch  you,  but  another 

would. 
Ann  :  He  speaks  truly,  Fatima. 

Fatima  :         I  know.     I  must  go.     Hassan,  tell  my  iiusband 

that  I  will  be  with  him  innnediately.     I  linger  only  to 

put  on  my  ornaments.     Then  come  back  again  to  letch 

me. 


D 


2  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 


(Hassan  salaams  and  departs) 
Zuleika,  the  toilet  tray — Ann,  I  am  afraid  to  go  to  him. 
He  will  look  right  through  me  as  he  always  does,  and  see 
all  that  is  written  on  my  heart. 
Ann  :  You  need  not  be  afraid.     We  will  deck  you  like 

a  new  bride,  and  then  he  will  rejoice  at  your  beauty  and 
forget  all  else. 
Fatima  :         Am  I  very  pale  ? 
Ann  :  Yes,  but  that  is  soon  remedied. 

(Fatima  sits  down.     Ann  takes  the  tray  from  Zuleika, 
and  proceeds  to  touch  up  her  sister's  face.) 
Fatima  :         Zuleika,  bring  me  the  new  veil  Bluebeard  gave 

me  before  he  left. 
Ann  :  And  the  jewel  casket,  Zuleika.     We  will  make 

you  so  beautiful,  that  the  very  sun  will    hide    himself. 
Tliere,  not  even  the  oleander  blossoms  have  a  prettier 
blush  than  that.     And  your  eyebrows  shall  be  as  black  as 
the  shadow  of  the  archway  in  the  courtyard. 
Zuleika  :         What  ornaments  will  you  wear,  mistress  ? 
Fatima  :         My  bracelets  and  my  anklets,  and  those  three 
rings  that  my  great  grand-mother  wore.     I  will  choose 
the  necklace,  when  sister  Ann  lets  me  have  my  own  eyes 
again. 
Zuleika  :         This  blue  one  is  the  prettiest — or  this. 
Fatima  :         Slip  on  my  anklets  for  me. 
Zuleika  ;         (Having  done  so)  There  ! 
Ann  :  And  tliere  ! 

Fatima  :         Am  I  beautiful  ? 
Zuleika  :         As  the  enclianted  gazelle, 
Ann  :  As  my  own  lovely  little  sister. 

Fatima  :         Then  dress  me  quickly. 

(She  stands  up.    They  rise  too.    Ann  takes  off  Fatima's 
veil.) 
Fatima  :         Let  me  see  the  necklace,  Zuleika — no,  not  that 

one — this  long  ghttering  one. 
Hassan  :         (Without)  May  one  enter  ?    (The  gong  sounds.) 
Fatima  :         No  !    no  !     It's  Hassan.     Finish  me  quickly. — 
Wait  for  me  one  moment,  Hassan. 

(Ann  and  Zuleika  drape  her  veil,  and  deck  her  with 
jewels.) 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  53 

Ann,  if  Bluebeard  asks  me  about  that  closet  I  shall  lie — 

I  shall  lie  hard  ! 
Ann  :  Of  course  you  will.     What  else  could  you  do  ? 

But  never  think  of  it.     Think  how  only  yesterday,  you 

were  longing  for  your  husband. 
Fatima  :         Oh  !     I  am  weary  of  husbands. 
Zuleika  :         You  must  wear  this  brooch.     'Tis  said  to  have 

come  from  the  sea,  and  to  have  been  worn  by  a  fairy 

princess  of  Ind. 
Fatima  :         Put  it  on. 
Zuleika  :         It  hangs  there  like  the  evening  star  on  the  bosom 

of  the  sunset. 
Fatima  :         lam  not  big  enough  for  a  sunset,  am  I,  sister  Ann? 

Now  am  I  finished  ? 
Ann  :  Quite. 

Zuleika  :         The  kings  of  Arabia  might  envy  your  husband. 
Fatima  :         Then  I'll  go.     Call  in  Hassan. 
Zuleika  :         (Clapping  her  hands)    Hassan  ! 

(Hassan    comes    in    through    the   curtains.       Zuleika 

carries   her  bowl    to  tlie  back  of  the  room  and  busies 

herself  with  the  keys.) 
Fatima  :         (To  Hassan)  I  am  ready — kiss  me,  Ann  (aside  to 

Ann)    Do  I  look  guilty  ? 
Ann  :         Not  a  bit.     But  carry  your  head  more  boldly.     You 

need  not  stay  with  him  long.     Plead  faintness  and  come 

back  to  us. 
Fatima  :         Oh  !    I  shan't  stay  long. 

(Hassan  holds  the  curtain  for  her  and  follows  her  out.) 
Ann  :  All  good  fairies  go  with  you,  little  sister. 

(Goes  to  the  curtains  and  watches  her  through  them. 

then  turns  back  into  the  room  with  a  shiver,  saying)  : 

I  know  just  the  boisterous  way  he  will  embrace  her. 
(She  sits  on  the  cushion,  and  is  leisurely  putting  the 

jewels  back  into  the  casket  when  Zuleika  comes  forward.) 
Zuleika  :         Mistress  Ann,  do  what  I  will,  I  cannot  wash  the 

blood  from  these  keys. 
Ann  :  Give  them  to  me,  and  the  napkin.     Throw  that 

water  out  of  the  window  and  bring  fresh.     We  must 

have  these  clean,  for  Bluebeard  is  certain  to  ask  her  for 

them.     I  wonder  what  they  are  saying  now  ? 


54  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Zuleika  :         (Emptying  the  bowl  and  filling  it)  Perhaps  he  is 
showing  her  all  the  rich  spoils  they  have  brought  back. 

I  saw  ivory,  and  rich  stuffs,  and  bundles  that  I  think 
were  spices,     I  would  love  to  go  and  see. 
Ann  :  Bring  me  the  water.     What  is  a  good  thing  for 

taking  bloodstains  off,  Zuleika  ? 
Zuleika  :         I  have  tried  everything  that  I  can  think  of. 
Ann  :  Nonsense,  girl.     Bring  me  soda. 

Zuleika  :         I  have  tried  soda. 
Ann  :  Bring  me  a  lemon. 

Zuleika  :         I  have  tried  lemon,  too. 
Ann  ;  Bring  me  a  lemon,  and  give  me  fewer  words. 

(Zuleika  brings  half  a  lemon.     Ann  is  rubbing  furiously 

at  the  keys.) 

You  don't  know  how  to  clean  things.     You  should  rub 

them. 
Zuleika  :         I  have  rubbed  them  till  my  fingers  ache. 
Ann  :  In  that  cupboard  there  is  hartshorn.     We  will 

try  putting  that  in  the  water.     And  try  rubbing  them  on 

the  stones. 
Fatima  :         (From  without,  cheerfully)   Sister  Ann  ! 
Ann  :  Fatima  coming  back  !     Take  these,  do  not  let 

her   see  tiiem.     And   you  must  get  them  clean   at  any 

price 

(Zuleika   takes   the  bowl  out  of  the  room  as  Fatima 

comes  in  from  the  other  side) 
Fatima  :         Sister  Ann  ! 
Ann  :  (Going  to  meet  her)    Well,  how  was  it  ?     What 

did  he  say  ? 
Fatima  :         Oh  !    we   needn't   have    l)een   so   afraid  !      He 

suspects  nothing.     And  he  has  brought  me  such  lovely 

presents.     Look,  an  amber  necklace.     You  know^  how  I 

have  been  wanting  one.     And  there  are  amber  bracelets, 

and  anklets,  and  a  veil  to  match.     And  look,  this  ring. 

Do  you  like  it  ? 
Ami  :  It's  beautiful. 

Fatima  :         Oh  !    tliey  are  lovely  presents.     There's  a  little 

ape  that  makes  such  funny  faces  !     And  a  whole  length 

of  linen,  so  fine,  that  yon  can  draw  it  througii  a  ring. 

And   sweetmeats  from  Bagdad.     Oh  !    it  will  take  two 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  55 

slaves  to  carry  all  my  presents  up  here.     You  shall  have 

some  of  tliem,  sister  Ann,  but  we  won't  tell  him,  because 

he  doesn't  like  you. 
Ann  :  I'll  call  Zara  and  Zobede  to  carry  them  up  for 

you. 
Fatima  :         Not  now,  I'm  in  a  hurry.     But  isn't  it  fine  to  have 

such  gorgeous  presents  ?     Don't  you  think  he  must  be 

very  fond  of  me  to  bring  me  such  heaps  of  things  ?     Let 

me  look  in  the  mirror  to  see  if  I  look  nice.     Don't  you 
,     think  I  might  be  a  little  rosier,  sister  Ann  ? 
Ami  :  No,  I    think  the  roses  are  just  right.     But  why 

should  you  be  in  a  hurry  ? 
Fatima  :         Oh  I   I've  got  to  go  back  to  him.     I  only  came 

for  the  keys.     Bluebeard  wants  them  and  I  must  take 

tliem  quickly.     I'd  nearly  forgotten,  I  was   so    excited 

telling  you  about  the  presents. 
Ann  :  You  shall  have  them  in  a  minute.     There's  no 

hurry.     Come  and  sit  beside  me,  and  tell  me  more  about 

the  presents. 
Fatima  :         Not  now.     I  must  go  quickly.    Give  me  the  keys, 

sister  Ann. 
Ann  :  You  must  satisfy   a  little  of  my  curiosity  first. 

Tell  me  how  Bluebeard  received  you. 
Fatima  !         (Sitting   beside  her)    Oh  !    most    kindly.      You 

would  think  he  had  been  away  for  years  instead  of  weeks. 

But  he's  waiting  for  me  now.     You  mustn't  keep  me. 
Ann  :  Is  he  well  ? 

Fatima  :         I  think  so, — I  didn't  ask. 
Ann  :      •         Did  you  tell  him  that  I  was  here  ? 
Fatima  :         No.     But  give  me  the  keys. 
Ann  :  Did  he  bring  you  robes,  as  well  as  jewels  ? 

Fatima  :         (Jumping  up)    Yes,  but  the  keys  !     Ann,  it  isn't 

like  you  to  keep   me  when   you  know  my  husband   is 

waiting. 
Ann  :  I'll   give   them   to   you   in   one   moment.     I'm 

waiting  for  Zuleika. 
Fatima  :  Has  she  got  them  ? 

Ann  :  Yes. 

Fatima  :         I'll  call  her. 

(Goes  towards  the  little  door,  but  Zuleika  comes  in  and 


56  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

passes  her,  carrying  a  couple  of  napkins,  and  the  bowl, 

which  she  hides  from  Fatinia.) 
P'atima  :         Zuleika,  give  me  the  keys. 
Zuleika  :         It*s  no   use,   mistress   Ann.     Nothing   has  any 

effect  on  them. 
Fatima  :         On  what  ? 
Zuleika  :         On  the  keys. 
Fatima;         Let   me   see   them. — Oli    horror!     I  can't  take 

them  to  Bluebeard  like  that.     What  shall  I  do,  sister  Ann? 
Ann  :  Don't  worry,  Fatima.     They  shall  be  quite  clean 

before  you  take  them  to  him.     Give  them  to  me,  Zuleika. 
(She   takes   the   keys  and  napkins  from  Zuleika  and 

sits  down) 

We'll  see  what  liard  rubbing  can  do. 
Fatinia  :         I'll  help  you.     Give  me  half  the  bunch, 
Zuleika  :         It's  no  use,  mistress.     I've  tried  everything,  and 

I've  rubbed  and  rubbed  them  and  they  won't  come  clean. 
Fatima  :         Oh,  dear! 
Ann  :  Zuleika,  hold  your  peace,  and  don't  whine  so. 

Have  you  tried  a  cut  potato  ? 
Zuleika  :         Yes.     It  was  no  good. 
Fatima  :         They're  not  getting  any  cleaner.     It's  no  use — 

my  liand  is  trembling  so  that  I  can't  rub  them.     And 

Bluebeard  is  waiting  all  tliis  lime — Oh,  what  shall  we  do? 

What  shall  we  do  ? 
Ann  :  Fatima,  trust  to  me.     Don't  be  afraid. 

Fatima  :         But  what   can   you   do,   sister  Ann  ?     You  are 

only  a  woman,  too. 

(The  gong  sounds) 
Hassan  :         (From  without)     May  one  enter  ? 
Fatima  :         It's  Hassan. 
Ann  :  No.     Stay  without. 

Hassan  :         (Without)     Bluebeard  grows  impatient.     Is  the 

lady  Fatima  coming  ? 
Ann  :  She  is  even  now  on  her  way.    .  .  .    Fatima,  you 

nmst  tell  him  that  the  keys  are  lost.     Say  that  we  have 

looked  everywhere  for  them.     While  you  are  gone  we 

will  dispose  of  them. 
Fatima  :         Must  I  go,  sister  Ann  ?     You  know  I  can  never 

deceive  him. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  57 

Ann :  There   is   nothing   else   to   do.     You   must   be 

brave,  Httle  Fatima.     Do  not  keep  him  waiting  longer. 
Fatima  :         I  will  go.     Oh  !    but  1  dare  not  go.     Ann,  why 

are  my  hands  trembling?     Can't  you  stop  them  trembling? 
Ann  :  I  will  go  with  you,  Fatima. 

Fatima  :        No,  it  will  only  anger  him  ;  he  hates  you.     1*11 

go  now.     But,  Ann,  hold  me  tight  before  I  go. 

(Ann  embraces  her  closely  and  as  soon  as  the  embrace 

IS  relaxed,    Fatima  slips  out  quickly  without  another 
■    word  or  look) 
Ann  :  She  should  not  have  to  go  alone.     I  should  be 

with  her. — Oh  !  if  only  I  were  a  man ! 
Zuleika  :         Why  then  you  would  be  away  hunting  or  fighting 

with  your  brothers,   and   the   lady    Fatima  would  be 

all  alone. 
Ann  :  That's  true. 

Zuleika  :        Unless,  indeed,  one  of  your  brothers  was  a  sister, 

and  then,    I   suppose,   he   would   be  you,  and  you  no 

better  ofif. 
Ann  :  Oh  !    don't   chatter  so.     We   have  got  to  hide 

these  keys.     Where  shall  it  be  ? 
Zuleika  :        Throw  them  out  of  the  window. 
Ann  :  No,  stupid  creature.     Someone  would  find  them 

below. 
Zuleika  :         I  suppose  they  would  not  burn  in  the  fire  ? 
Ann  :  (Looking   about   the   room   for  a  hiding-place) 

Of   course   not.     You  must  use  your   brains   to   better 

purpose  than  that. 
Zuleika  :        They  say  that  the  wild  ostriches  of  the  desert 

swallow  such  things. 
Ann  :  What  if  they  do  ?     We  have  no  ostrich  here. 

Quick,  think  of  something.     We  have  not  time  to  bury 

them.     No    cupboard    nor    chest   would   be   safe,    for 

Bluebeard  may  come  to  search  for  them  himself. 
Zuleika  :         I  have  it !     There  is  a  little  hole  in  the  floor, 

I  have  often  noticed  it.     Look  ! — we  could  drop  them 

down  there. 
Ann  :  Excellent !     We'll  drop  them  in. 

(Drops  keys  down  hole) 
No  one  will  be  able  to  find  them  there. 


58  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Zuleika :  And  no  one  would  think  of  looking.  We'll 
move  the  rug  over  it  to  make  all  doubly  safe. — There  ! 
now  Bluebeard  may  come  and  search  the  place  down. 

Ann  :  What   a   relief !     Those   keys   were   a  burning 

nightmare  in  my  brain.  Now,  Zuleika,  tidy  the  apart- 
ment in  case  Bluebeard  does  come.  I  wonder  how  it 
fares  with  Fatima  ?  I  trust  she  will  not  droop  her 
eyelids  if  he  questions  her.  But  it  matters  nothing. 
The  keys  are  lost,  and  no  amount  of  questions  can 
alter  that. 

(The  gong  sounds) 

Hassan  :         (From  without)     May  one  enter  ? 

(Hassan  comes  in) 
Hassan  :         I  have  come  for  the  keys. 

Ann  :  I  cannot  give  them  to  you,  Hassan.    They  are  lost. 

Zuleika  :         (Impudently)     They  are  lost  where  no  one  will 

ever  find  them  ! 
Ann :  Hush,  Zuleika. 

Hassan  :         So  your  mistress  told  Bluebeard.   But  afterwards, 

she  confessed  her  deception,  and  it  was  she  who  bade 

me  come  and  ask  you  to  send  them. 
Ann  :  But  the  keys  are  indeed  lost.  Hassan.     We  are 

not  lying. 
Hassan  :         She  bade  me  tell  you  that  her  life  is  forfeit  if  I 

do  not  return  with  them  instantly.     See,  there  is  her  ring 

for  token. 
Ann  :  It  is  her  ring. 

Zuleika  :         Yes,  the  ring  is  hers,  but  how  did  this  fellow 

come  by  it?     May  not  Bluebeard  have  pulled  it  from  her 

finger,  and  sent  him  with  tliis  trumped-up  story  to  prove 

whether  indeed  we  have  the  keys  ? 
Ann  :  No.     I  know  this  ring.     It  was  long  ago  agreed 

between  Fatima  and  me  that  she  would  send  this  to  me 

if  ever  she  needed  a  token.     WellT  what  are  we  to  do, 

Hassan?     The  keys  are  indeed  lost.     We  have  dropped 

them  down  a  hole. 
Hassan  :         If  I  do  not  go  back  with  them  swiftly,  it  may  be 

too  late. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  59 

Zuleika  :         But  they  are  lost,  they  are  lost  !     Oh  I  dust  be 

on  my  head. 
Ann  :  Peace,  Zuleika.     We  must  tind  them,  that  is  all. 

Move  the  rug. 

(Zuleika  does  so) 
There,  Hassan,  they  are  down  that  hole,  and  it 

goes  down  deep. 

(Hassan  kneels  and  examines  the  hole.) 
Hassan  :         Zuleika,  thrust  me  down  your  hand.     Mine  is  too 

large. 
Zuleika  :         Oh  no  !     My  hand  would  not  go  in  there.     I 

should  never  be  able  to  draw  it  out  again. 
Hassan  :         Not  so  many  words.     Thrust  in  you  hand  ! 
Zuleika  :         I  won't.     I  worship  the  lady  Fatima — but  that 

may  be  a  snake-hole. 
Ann  :  Move,  Hassan,  I  will  try. 

Zuleika  :         Mistress  Ann,  'tis  just  the  size  for  a  snake-hole. 

You  will  be  bitten  for  a  surety. 
Ann  :  The  hole  is  larger  below.     I  can  move  my  hand 

about.     Here  they  are  !     I  can  feel  them.     Now  to  get 

them  through   the  narrow   opening  .  .  .  Oh  !     I    have 

dropped  them  again. 
Hassan  :         Quickly,  mistress.     Bluebeard  is  not  patient. 
Ann  :  Wait  .  .  .  Here  they  are  ! 

(Draws  them  out  of  the  hole.) 

Now,  good  Hassan,  fly  ! 
Hassan  :         They  are  stained  with  blood. 
Ann:  Yes.     I  had  almost  forgotten.     But  what  can  we 

do  ?     You  must  take  them. 
Hassan  :         That  much  is  certain. 

(He  salaams  and  goes) 
Ann  :  (To  Zuleika)    Now  we  are  lost. 

(She  sits  down  stonily.     Zuleika  sits  down  and  begins 

to  sob.) 
Zuleika  ;         Oh  !   my  poor,  poor  little  mistress  ! 
Ann  :  Stop  your  wailing.     What  good  can  it  do  ? 

(She  rises  and  walks  restlessly  about  the  room.) 

Oh  !  this  heat  is  intolerable  !   The  suspense  is  intolerable. 

If  one  could  but  guess  what  they  were  saying. 
Zuleika  :        (Still  weeping)     He  has  no  bowels   of  mercy. 


6o  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

He  will  have  no  compassion  on  her. 
Ann  :  Oh  !   if  one  went  by   you,  the  world   was  lost 

before  it  was  made  ! 
Zuleika :         Nothing. 
Ann  :  I  must  go  down   and   see  what   is  happening. 

What  if  he  hates  me  ?     He  can  only  kill  us.     Wait  here 

for  me — I  am  going  to  her. 

(She  goes  out  through   the  curtains.     Zuleika  is  left 

in   a  state  of   extreme   suspense   and   anxiety.     She   is 

peering  between  the  closed  curtains  when  Abdul  comes 

in  from  the  left  with  a  bowl  in  his  hand.) 
Abdul  :  Aha,  have  I  caught  you  peeping  ? 

Zuleika  :         I  wasn't  peeping. 
Abdul  :  Zuleika,   who   puts   on   such   ftiighty  fine   airs, 

prying  like  a  common  slave  ! 
Zuleika  :         'Tis  you   are    the   common   slave.     And   what 

business  have  you  here  in  my  mistress's  chamber  without 

being  summoned  ? 
Abdul  :  1  have  come  to  sprinkle  the  floor  with  rose-water, 

according  to  custom.     And  if   I  have  any  more  rough 

words,    I'll   sprinkle   a  few  drops  in  your   pretty  face. 

'Twill  wash  out  some  of  those  roses  that  your  mother 

never  planted  in  you. 
Zuleika:         (Moving  quickly  away)     Impudent  fellow  !    'Tis 

not  the  custom  to  sprinkle  any  room,  save  when  it  is 

empty. 
Abdul  :  There  is  no  one  here  now,  that  I  can  see. 

Zuleika  :         (Angrily)  I  am    here — I  have   been  bidden   to 

wait  up  here  alone  when  anything  may  be  liappening 

down  below.     Abdul,  have  you  heard  nothing  of  what 

is  going  forward  ? 
Abdul  :  I    heard    some  stir   in   the   other  part  of   the 

palace,  but  'twas  no  business  of  mine.     I  have  my  work 

to  do. 

(Begins  to  sprinkle  the  floor) 
Zuleika  :         (Going  close  to  him  so  that  he  has  to  leave  ofi 

sprinkling)     Good   Abdul,   leave  off  sprinkling,    I  pray 

you,  and  go  find  out  further  for  me.     I  am  torn  to  know 

what  is  happening  to  my  mistress. 
Abdul :  "  Good  Abdul,"  now.     I  was  "  impudent  fellow  " 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  6i 

a  minute  ago.  Stand  further  off,  or  my  sprinkling  will 
damage  your  dress. 

(Makes  as  tliough  to  sprinkle,  but  does  not) 

Zuleika  :         Do  you  know  that  she  is  in  Bluebeard's  presence, 
and  he  wrath  with  her  ? 

Abdul  :  When  Bluebeard  is  wrathful,  this  otiier  side  of 

the  house  suits  me  best.     No,  I'll  not  go  down. 

Zuleika  :         Simpleton  !     Does  the  tiger  kill  the  fly  ? 

Abdul :  The  fly  stays  not  to  ask.     He  trusts  to  his  wings. 

Zuleika  :         (Stamping  her  foot)     Wretch  ! 

(Ann  appears  between  the  curtains.     Abdul  salaams) 

Ann  :  What  are  you  doing  here,  Abdul  ? 

Abdul :  Sprinkhng  the  floor,  mistress. 

Ann  :  Leave  it  now.     Come  back  later  to  iinish.     Come 

at  sunset, — you  will  have  the  room  to  yourself  then. 

Abdul  :  I  will  come  back  at  sunset. 

(Salaams  and  goes) 

Zuleika  :         (When  he  is  out  of  the  room)     What  news  ? 

Ann  :  The  worst !     Bluebeard  cannot  contain  his  anger. 

He  shouted,  he  raged,  he  swore  that  all  those  murdered 
women  were  wives  of  his  that  he  had  slain  for  their 
curiosity.  He  dragged  her  by  the  hair  !  ...  All  she 
could  gain  by  her  tears  and  passionate  pleadings  was 
leave  to  hve  till  sunset.  They  have  gone  to  the  court- 
yard whence  they  can  see  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  fade 
from  the  topmost  tower.  Heaven  grant  that  before 
that  moment  aid  may  come !  There  must  be  help 
somewhere  for  the  utterly  helpless — for  slaves,  and 
infants,  and  women. 

Zuleika  :         Mistress  Ann,  there  is  just  the  faintest  chance 
that  your  brothers  may  come  before  sunset. 

Ann  :  Yes.     And  now  I  remember,  that  is  why  I  left 

her  and  came  up  here.  She  asked  me  to  watch  from 
this  window,  whence  one  can  see  over  the  whole  wide 
plain. 

Zuleika  :         They  are   in   the   courtyard,   you   say  ?     Then 
come  to  the  balcony.     We  could  watch  them  from  there. 

Ann  :  No.     I  can't  bear  to  look  at  them  again. 

(Zuleika  goes  out  on  to  the  balcony,  and  looks  down. 
Then  she  corned  back  into  the  rDOm  to  say  eagerly) : 


62  WHAT    OF    THE    WIGHT! 

Zuleika  :  Mistress  Ann  !  she  is  kneeling  at  her  prayers, 
while  he  scowls  furiously  with  drawn  scimitar.  Suppose 
his  patience  does  not  last  till  sunset  ?  I  would  not  trust 
him.  Never  have  I  seen  him  looking  so  dreadful,  and 
he  was  always  a  dreadful-looking  man. 

Ann  :  Hush,  girl.     We  must  listen  in  case  she  calls  to 

me.  I  begged  her  to  call  to  me  so  that  I  may  be  sure 
she  still  lives. 

Zuleika ;  Oh  !  she  lives.  I  could  see  that.  But  so 
distraught  !  With  her  hair  all  streaming  round  her. — 
I'll  go  back  to  the  balcony  and  look  again. 

(She  goes  out  on  to   the    balcony   and   looks   down. 
Fatima's  voice  comes  up  from  the  courtyard)  : 

Fatima  :         Sister  Ann  !     Sister  Ann  !   can  you  see  nothing  ? 

Ann  :  (Calling)     Nothing  but  the  sun  shining  over  the 

wide,  empty  plain. 

(Zuleika  comes  in  again) 

Zuleika  :  It  frightens  me,  he  looks  so  hideous.  He  seems 
to  gnash  his  teeth  !  Oh  I  who  would  have  tliought,  a 
few  hours  ago,  that  we  could  all  be  so  upset  ? 

Ann  :  Hush,  girl !  listen. 

Zuleika  :  (After  an  instant's  silence)  Oh  !  Mistress  Ann  ! 
if  only  we  had  the  magic  lamps,  and  the  magic  rings 
that  we  read  about  in  stories  I  we  could  summon  genii 
from  the  ends  of  the  earth — 

Ann  :  Zuleika,  we  have  no  magic  rings,  and  there  is 

nothing  to  be  done  by  wishing.  We  are  helpless  women, 
and  all  we  can  do  is  to  wait  for  the  help  that  may  come 
or  bear  what  ever  happens  if  it  does  not  come.  Now, 
keep  silence,  and  let  me  listen  for  my  sister's  voice, 
or — by  Allah  !  I  will  send  you  from  the  room  and  have 
you  beaten.     Do  you  hear  me  ? 

Zuleika  :  Yes,  mistress.  Well,  as  there  is  nothing  else  to 
be  done,  I  had  better  pray.    (She  kneels.) 

Fatima  :  (From  the  courtyard)  Sister  Ann  !  Sister  Ann  ! 
what  see  vou  now  ? 

Ann  :  I  can  see  nothing  but  the  sun  shining  over  the 

wide  plain,  and  a  little  dust  moving  in  the  breeze. 

Zuleika  :         Tliere  was  no  breeze  a  little  while  ago. 

Ann  :  Nor  was  there  any  dust  when  first  I  came  to  the 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  63 

window  .  .  .  'Tis  an  odd  little  cloud  of  dust.     Zuleika — 

it's  moving  nearer  !     Ifs  coming  this  way  ! 
Zuleika  :         Let  me  see.  (runs  to  the  window)  That  dust  is 

not  sliired  by  the  wind. 
Ann  :  Bring  me  a  scarf.     It  grows  chill  by  the  window. 

If  only  that  dust  may  be  raised  by  the  hoofs  of  their 

horses  !     It  certainly  comes  nearer,  Zuleika.     But,  alas  ! 

already  the  rays  of  the  low  sun  are  turning  it  golden. 
(Bringing  a  red  scarf.) 
Zuleika  :         Oh  !   that  they  might  come  before  the  sun  sets  ! 

(from  the  courtyard)    Sister  Ann  !     Sister  Ann  !     What 

see  you  now. 
Ann  :  (Not  heeding  the  cry)   Zuleika  !   plague  witlier 

my  false  eyes  !     These  are  no  horsemen  coming  in  the 

dust — it  is  a  goatherd  and  his  goats  ! 
(Turns  from  the  window) 
Fatima  :         (From  the  courtyard)   Sister  Ann  !    Sister  Ann  ! 

Do  you  see  nothing  ? 
Ann  :  (Calls)    Nothing  but  the  low  sun  hanging  over  a 

desolate  plain  !     Oh  !    my  little  sister,  my  little  sister,  I 

cannot  help  you  now. — Nothing  can  help  you  now.     I'm 

going  down  to  her,  Zuleika.     'Tis  no  use  my  staying  here. 
Zuleika  :         Do  not  go  down,  Mistress  Ann.     You  may  get 

hurt. 
Ann  :  Of  what  use  is  my  life  ?     My  little  sister  was  all 

that  I  cared  for  in  the  world. 

(She  goes  out  through  the  curtains,  dropping  the  red 

scarf  as  she  goes.) 
Zuleika  :         All  my  prayers  wasted  !     Never  will  I  put  knee 

to  ground  again. 

(She  sobs.     Goes   out  on  to  the   balcony   and   looks 

down  and  then  comes  back  and  throws  herself  on  the 

couch,  crying. 

(Enter  Abdul  with  a  bowl) 
Abdul :  What  is  all  this  weeping  ? 

Zuleika  :         Oh  !  Abdul,  look  down  into  the  courtyard.    You 

will  see  my  little  mistress  praying  in  her  sister's  arms, 

while  great  Bluebeard  stands  over  her  with  a  scimitar. 
Abdul  :  You  women  must  be  kept  in  order. 

(Sprinkles  the  floor) 


64  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

Zuleika  :  (Jumping  up  in  anger)  What  are  you  doing  in 
here  ?  Go  out  of  the  room.  You  were  told  not  to  come 
back  till  sunset. 

Abdul  :  Well  !     It  is  sunset  now. 

Zuleika  :  It's  not,  it  cannot  be.  It's  a  great  while  off  till 
sunset. 

Abdul  :  Look  out  of  the  window  yourself,  if  you  will  not 
believe  me.  Am  I  a  one-eyed  mule  that  I  cannot  see 
when  the  sun  sets  ? 

Zuleika  :  (Tearfully)  Would  I  could  push  it  up  the  sky 
again. 

(She  goes  to  the  window.) 
It  has  not  set.  Only  the  very  lowest  rim  has  touched 
the  hills.  (Suddenly  calling  wildly  in  her  excitement) 
Why — -Mistress  Ann  !  Mistress  Ann  ! — tliose  are  no 
goats  !  they  are  horsemen  coming  nearer.  Look,  Abdul, 
look  how  the  sunrays  gleam  golden  on  their  helmets. 
They  are  riding  in  a  golden  haze  of  dust.  Allah  grant 
they  be  in  time  ! 

Abdul :  What  ails  the  girl  ?  she  must  be  possessed. 

Zuleika  :  Nay,  Abdul.  These  are  my  mistress'  brothers 
riding  to  help  her.  Be  glad  ! — do  not  pretend.  She  is 
your  mistress  as  well  as  mine. 

Abdul :  Let  me  see  ? — Allah  !   how  fast  they  ride  !   but 

they  can  scarce  be  here  before  sunset. 

Zuleika  :  I  will  wave  a  signal  from  the  window  to  show 
them  the  danger  we  are  in.  Watch,  meanwhile,  lest  the 
sun  set  while  I'm  away  from  it.  (She  looks  round,  sees 
the  scarlet  scarf,  runs  with  it  to  the  window,  and  waves 
it  out,  crying)  : — For  the  love  of  life,  make  haste ! — Abdul, 
tlie  sun  is  setting  !     It  is  almost  gone  ! 

Abdul :  Give  me  the  scarf.     Now  run  with  all  your  speed 

to  the  courtyard,  call  out  to  Bluebeard,  and  make  up 
some  news  to  tell  him.  That  will  give  us  a  moment 
longer. 

(Zuleika  runs  out,  her  voice  can  be  heard  as  she  runs 
down  the  stairs,  calling)  : 

Zuleika  :        Bluebeard  !     Bluebeard  ! 

(Abdul  still  holds  the  scarf  from  the  window.     The 
stage  is  slowly  darkening.     Now  he  calls  out)  : 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  65 

Abdul  :  Through  that  archway  !     Make    haste  !     Make 

haste  !  lest  you  be  too  late  ! 

(He  vvatclies  for  a  moment  longer,    ihen  tuins  back 
into  the  room.     A  great  uproar  rises  from  the  courtyard. 
Abdul  hurriedly  crosses  the  room,  and  looks  down  from 
the  balcony.     He  exclaims  in  strong  excitement)  : 
Beard  of  the  prophet  ! 
(Suddenly  he  moves  back,   dropping   his   bowl,    and 
leans  against  a  pillar  covering  his  face  with  his  band. 
,    He  exclaims,  in  a  tone  of  utter  relief)  : 
Allah  be  thanked  ! 

(The  stage  is  almost  dark) 
Curtain. 


66  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 


THE  STRANGE  PHYSICIAN 

A    DRAMA    IN    ONE    ACT. 


PERSONS  : 

JOHN   DALE. 
MARION    (his  wife). 
JACK    (their  son). 
A    PHYSICIAN. 


SCENE  :     A  room  in  the  Dale's  house,  Johannesburg. 
TIME  :    The  present  day. 


SCENE  :  A  liall  furnished,  comfortably  but  not  luxuriously, 
us  a  living  room,  and  obviously  more  a  man's  room  than 
a  woman's.  The  front  door  faces  the  audience,  and 
there  is  a  window  to  the  right  of  it.  A  door  in  the  left 
wall  leads  to  the  bedrooms,  and  there  is  another  door  in 
the  right  wall.  Jack  Dale,  a  pleasant  faced  young  man, 
sits  reading  the  paper.  His  father  comes  in,  wearing  a 
very  worried  expression.  He  is  a  spare,  patient-looking 
man,  but  tall  as  his  son. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  67 

Dale  :         Hasn't  he  come  yet,  Jack  ? 

Jack  :  No.     (Takes  out  his  watch)     He's  kite. 

Dale ;        Ten  minutes  late. 

Jack  :  Don't  worry,  father.     He's  sure  to  be  here  soon, 

and  when  he  does  come,  you  bet  he'll  fix  things  up  alright. 
He's  an  awfully  clever  old  chap,  they  say. 

Dale  :  Dr.  Foster  has  a  very  great  opinion  of  his  ability. 
He  told  me  that  he  was  the  greatest  specialist  in 
Switzerland. 

Jack  :  Oh  !  then  he's  Swiss  ? 

Dale  :  I  don't  know  that  he  is.  He  was  last  in  Switzerland, 
but  I  shouldn't  like  to  guess  his  nationality. 

Jack  :  Neither   should    I.     He   seems   to   have   been  in 

most  countries.     Have  you  ever,  in  your  life,  met  anyone 
more  hard  to  place  ? 

Dale  :  He  interests  me  as  a  doctor,  but  only  as  a  doctor, 
(Looking  at  his  watch)  Time  seems  of  little  importance 
to  him.  I  think  I'll  go  and  wait  in  the  garden,  Jack. 
Call  me  as  soon  as  he  comes. 

(Goes  out  to  the  right) 

Jack  :  Right  you  are. 

(He  settles  down  to  his  paper  again.  A  ring  and 
knock  at  the  front  door.  Jack  hurries  to  open  it.  Enter 
the  physician.  He  is  a  tall,  thin,  old,  Jewish-looking 
man,  with  silver  grey  liair  and  beard.  In  spite  of  his 
age  he  seems  to  have  great  strength  and  vitahty.  He 
carries  himself  with  dignity,  which  breaks  now  and  then 
into  almost  savage  restlessness,  as  though  a  fire  raged 
within.  The  most  remarkable  thing  about  him  is  the 
expression  that  burns  in  his  eyes,  which  may  be  horror, 
may  be  despair,  or  may  be  a  passion  of  weariness.  His 
voice  and  manner  of  speaking,  vary  from  acute  penetration 
to  pre-occupied  indifference.  He  is  never  sympathetic 
— perhaps  he  lias  no  feeling  to  spare  for  others  ;  and 
his  scorn  lurks  always  ready.) 

Jack  :  Good  morning,  sir.  Come  in.  Let  me  take  your 
hat.     I'm  glad  you've  come  ;  my  father's  awfully  anxious. 

Physician:    (Scrutinizing  him)     How  is  the  patient  ? 

Jack  :  The  nurse  says  she  is  wonderfully  better. 

Physician:    Haven't  you  seen  her  ? 


68  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Jack  ;  You  left  strict  orders  that  we  were  not  to  go  in. 

Physician:    (With  indifference)     Did  I  ? 

Jack  :  Have  you  forgotten  ? 

Physician:    If  your  memory  were  as  overburdened  as  mine  is, 

you  might  sometimes  drop  details  by  the  way.     Details 

— hah  !     I  have  forgotten  more  than  any   of   you   will 

ever  know. 
Jack  :  I  suppose  you've  had  a  lot  of  experience,  travelling 

about,  and  so  on  ? 
Physician:    I  have.     I  might  have  gathered  great  wisdom  if  I 

could  have  kept  my  mind  off  the  trail  of  its  owni  burden. 

— Where's  your  father  ? 
Jack  :  I'll  call  him. 

(Opens  door  on  the  right  and  calls)  : 
Jane,  please  tell  the  master  that  the  doctor  is  here. 

— He's  in  a  great  state  of  mind.     Can't  settle  down  to 

anything. 
Physician:    Aha!  restless,  is  he  ?    H'm — the  gadfly.     Driven 

from  one  thing  to  another.     I  know  the  symptoms. — Are 

you  not  excited  too  ? 
Jack  :  Not    in    the   same   way.     I've   never   known    my 

mother  any  different  from  what  she  is  now.     She  went 

out  of  her  mind  when  I  was  born. 
Physician :  So  little  time  ago?  I  thought  it  was  longer  than  that. 
Jack  :         (Rather  hotly)     It's  25  years  ago. 
Physician;    Only  25  years  ? 

(Lapses  into  a  reverie) 
Physician:  (Presently)     Well,  if    I    have   not   succeeded   in 

curing  her,  you  may   know   that    her  case  is  hopeless. 

Mental  cures  are  my  province.     I  can  cure  any  illness  of 

the  mind,    except  despair.     Minds   are   strange  things, 

Master  Dale.     Even  young  and  empty  minds  like  yours. 
Jack  :  Wliat  age  are  you  ? 

Physician:    Eh  ? 
Jack  :  i  dichi't  mean  to  be  impertinent.     But  it  seems  to 

me  that  you've  forgotten  what  you  were  like  at  25. 
.Physician:    I  have.     (Laughs  mirthlessly)      I  have  forgotten. 
Jack  :  Here's  my  father. 

(Enter  Dale) 
Dale  ;         Ah !    you've   come,    doctor.     Tliank   heavens  !     I 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  69 

suppose  you'll  go  at  once  to  see  your  patient  ? 

Physician:    Yes.    But  I'll  go  alone.     It  is  better  for  her  to  see 
only  strangers  at  first.     (To  Jack)  Tell  the  nurse  I  am  here. 
(Jack  goes  through  the  door  on  the  left) 

Dale  :         Do  you  think  there  is  hope  ? 

Physician:  I  never  refuse  anyone  hope.  It's  a  toy  that  amuses 
many  and  harms  none. — But  I  think  1  have  cured  your 
wife. 

Dale  :  Whether  you  have  or  not,  we  owe  you  deep 
gratitude  for  all  the  trouble  you  have  taken.  I'm  afraid 
we've  rather  spoilt  your  holiday. 

Physician :   My — holiday  f 

Dale  :  I  understood  that  you  had  come  to  South  Africa 
for  a  holiday. 

Physician:  No,  I'm  passing  through  the  country.  That's  all. 
Passing  through  .  .  .  But  you  need  trouble  yourself 
with  no  gratitude.  I  count  it  gain — deliberate  gain,  when 
I  can  do  good  to  someone. 

Dale  :         You  have  a  charitable  nature. 

Physician:  Not  so.  I  care  notliing  for  those  to  whom  I  do 
the  good.  How  should  I  ?  They  pass  by  me  and  are 
gone.  But  to  do  the  good  counts  to  one's  credit,  does 
it  not  ? 

Dale  :         I  should  think  so. 

Physician  :  But  do  you  know  it  ?  No.  How  can  any  of  ns  be 
certain?  But  it  is  my  hope — my  toy  and  delusion.  Take 
your  case,  for  instance.  What  is  it  to  me  that  for  25 
years  you  have  been  burying  your  )outh  and  your  dreams, 
inch  by  inch,  at  the  feet  of  a  woman  with  a  dead  mind  ? 
Isn't  that  so  ?  You  see,  I  have  read  you  like  an  open 
book.  But  what  is  it  to  me,  except  that  by  waking  her 
for  you  I  may  gain  for  myself  some  credit — somewhere 
in  the  far  future  which  your  vision  cannot  pierce.  Let 
be.     You  are  not  able  to  comprehend. 

(They   sit   in  silence,    the    physician    brooding,    Dale 
watching  him,  till  Jack  comes  in) 

Jack :  They   are   ready    for   you,    doctor.     Shall    I  lead 

the  way  ? 

Physician:  You  can  wait  for  me  here.     I  know  the  way. 

(He  goes  out) 


70  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

Dale  :  You  are  right,  Jack.  That  physician  is  a  strange 
man. 

Jack  :  Isn't  he  ?     I'm  not  generally  curious,  but  I  must 

say,  I  wish  I  could  make  him  out. 

Dale  :  If  he  can  give  me  back  your  mother,  that  is  all  I 
care  about.   What  does  his  motive  matter?  or  his  method? 

Jack  :  Well,  I  hope  to  goodness,  he  will,  father,  for  your 

sake. 

Dale  :         For  my  sake,  only  ? 

Jack  :         And  hers,  too,  of  course. 

Dale  :         Not  for  your  own,  my  boy  ? 

Jack  :  Oh  !  yes.     But   after   all.    you've  had  to  be  both 

parents  to  me,  haven't  you  ? 

Dale  :         I've  tried  to  be. 

Jack  :         Succeeded,  too. 

Dale  :  (After  a  short  pause)  Look  here,  Jack,  he  talks 
about  the  credit  of  doing  good  and  visions  of  the  future, 
and  so  on — but  here,  in  this  ordinary  room  of  ours,  I  am 
waiting  to  knOvv  whether  this  is  to  be  a  second  wedding- 
day  for  me,  or  whetlier  all  my  life  is  to  be  wasted. — 
Strange,  isn't  it  ? 

Jack  :  Yes,  I  know.     These  philosophizing  fellows  forget 

tliat  one  is  made  of  fiesh  and  blood. 

Dale  :  (Who  is  moving  restlessly  about  the  room)  She 
used  to  sing  so  merrily.  I  suppose  you  can't  imagine 
your  mother  singing  ? 

Jack  :  No,  I  can't  .  .  .  Funny,  you  know, — when  one's 
waiting  for  anything  like  this  it's  just  when  one  ought  to 
be  able  to  read,  and  forget  about  the  time.  But  some- 
how one  can't  read. 

Dale:  (Producing  an  album)  Jack!  come  and  look  here, 
that's  your  mother  as  she  was  when  I  married  her. 

Jack  :  Pretty,  eh  ?     Awfully  pretty.     Yes,  you've  shown 

it  to  me  before. 

Dale  :  (Turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  album)  And  here 
— that's  as  she  was  when  I  first  knew  lier,  a  romping, 
curly-haired  little  girl. 

Jack  :  By  Jove,  yes.     Quite  a  pretty  little  thing.     Queer 

dresses  they  used  to  wear  in  those  days,  didn't  they  ? 

Dale         I  suppose  it  would  strike   you  so.     (Shuts  up  the 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  71 

album  and  puts  it  away  before  he  speaks.)     He's  taking 

a  long  time,  Jack. 
Jack :         Yes.     (Looks   at    liis   watch.)     Oh  !   not   so   very 

long.     We're  feeling  impatient,  you  see. 
Dale  :         Where's  my  tobacco  ?     You've  been  helping  your- 
self to  it  again,  eh  ? 
Jack  :  No.     There  it  is,  on  the  shelf  where  you  always 

keep  it. 
Dale  :         So  it  is.     Curious  that.     I  overlooked  it.     If  the 

news  were  satisfactory,  he  would  have  seen  it  at  once, 

and  come  straight  to  tell  us. 
Jack  :         Oh  !    he's  talking,  you  bet.     Talking  to  the  nurse. 

He's  a  demon  for  talking  :    yards  of  abstruse. — 
(Door  shuts  in  distance.) 
Dale  :)  There  he  comes  ! 
Jack  : )  There  he  is  ! 

Dale  :         It  is  too  much  to  hope  for,  after  all  these  years. 
Physician:  (Opening  door,  but  speaking  to  nurse  outside)  I'll 

be  back  in  a  moment,  nurse. 

(He  comes  in) 

Well,  are  you  prepared  for  any  news  I  may  bring  yon  ? 
Jack  :  Have  you  cured  her  ?     Can  you  tell  yet  ? 

Dale  :         Let  us  know,  for  heaven's  sake  ! 
Physician:  What  I  have  promised,  I  have  performed.     Mrs. 

Dale  is  restored  to  her  right  mind. 
Dale  :         Thank  God. 
Jack :  I   say,   that's   splendid  news.      Doctor,   you're   a 

brick  !     (Goes  up  as  though  to   shake  hands   witli  the 

doctor,  but  as   he  looks   into  his   eyes,  liis   expression 

changes,  and  he  says,)  How  many  times  have  you  seen 

all  this  before  ? 
Physician:    Endless  times. 

Jack  :  That's  the  impression  you  always  give  me  ! 

Dale  :         Is  she  quite  cured  ?     Are  you  sure  there  will  be  no 

relapse  ? 
Physician:    No   relapse,    if  you   are   careful   to   let  nothing 

startle  her  for  the  Hrst  few  days.     Slie  is  quite  cured. 
Dale  :         I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you.     Words  are  too 

weak. 
Physician:  I  need  no  thanks.     I  told  you  that  I  have  my  own 


72  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

reasons  for  doing  what  good  I  can.     Now,  I'm  going  to 

bring  her  in  here  :    so  remember  that  her  mind  has  been  a 

blank  for  some  years,  and  she  must  have  no  shock. 
Dale  :         You  need  not  tell  me  to  be  careful  ! 

(Exit  physician) 
Dale  :         It's  unbelievable  !      Open  the  window,  John  !     I 

wish  we  had  some  flowers  about.     Jove  !  what  a  lovely 

day.     I'm  glad  the  sun's  shining. 
Jack  :         Wonder  if  she'll  find  things  changed  ? 
bale  :         She's  never  been  inside  this  house.  ...  I  expect 

she'll  notice  a  good  deal  of  change  in  me. 
Jack  :  She  won't  even  know  me.     Doesn't  it  seem  extra- 

ordinary ? 
Dale  :         (Looking  at  his  watch)    I  ought  to  be  at  office.     I 

havn't  been  late  for  years. 
Jack  :         Oh  !    hang  work.     I  expect   they'll   give   me   the 

sack,  when  I  go  down,  but  what  of  that  ? 
Marion  :     (Without)    Where's  John  ? 
Jack  :         Is  that  her  voice  ? 

(Dale  nods) 

It's  the  lirst  time  I've  heard  her  speak. 

(Enter  the  physician  and  Marion.) 
Marion:     I  don't  know  this  room.     It's  strange.     It's  notour 

sitting  room. 
Physician:   Yon    must    remember    that   you   have   lost   your 

memory  for  a  few  years,  and  have   only  just  got  it  back. 

Most   things   will   seem   strange   at  first.     Turn  round 

There  are  people  in  the  room. 
Marion  :     Yes.     I  don't  want  to  meet  strangers  just  now. 
Physician:   I  think   you'll  find  that  you  know  them.     Turn 

and  see. 
Marion  (Looking  at  her  son)   Why,   It's  John  ! — my  John  ! 

(going  to  her  son.  and  putting  her  arms  round  him.)     Of 

course  I  know  you.     I  should  have  known  you  at  once, 

only  that  I    was  afraid   to  look.     You    havn't  changed 

at  all,  at  least — hardly  at  all. 
Jack  :  But  t  say!  how  on  earth  do  you  know  me,  mother  ? 

Marion  :     Why  do  you  call  me  mother  ? 
Dale  :         John  !    be  careful.     Don't  startle  her. 
jack  :  Oh,  I  don't  know — sort  of — for  a  lark,  you  know. 

Marion  :     John,  you  have  changed  !     You  arc  not  the  same. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  73 

What's  the  matter  ?     How  have  you  changed  ?     Tell  me 

what  it  is  ? 
Physician:    Only    that    you've    mistaken    you   son    for   your 

husband. 
Dale  :         You  told  us  not  to  shock  her. 
Marion  :     My  son  !    that  great  big  man  my  son.     I  havn't 

got  a  son.     There  must  be  some  mistake. 
Physician:  No  mistake,  Mrs.  Dale.     That's   your  son.     You 

went  out  of  your  mind  when  he  was  born. 
Marion  :     Then  where's  John  ?     Is  he  dead  ?     Answer  me, 

one  of  you. 
Dale  :         Marion,  can't  you  recognise  me  ? 
Marion  :     No,  I  don't  know  you. 
Dale  :         Don't  be  shocked — I  am  your  husband. 
Marion  :     Oh  !   no,  you're  not.     You're  a  stranger.     I'm  sure 

I've  never  seen  you  before.     Doctor,  won't  you  take  me 

away  ?     I  can't   stay  here  ;    I'm  frightened.     That   old 

man  my  husband  ! 
Dale  :         I  was  afraid  you  would  find  me  changed. 
Marion  :     That's   his   voice  !      He  always   speaks   like   that 

when  he's  hurt.     I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but 

you  know.although  you've  got  his  voice,  you  caiiU  be  John. 
Dale :         You're   not   hurting   my   feelings.      Don't   bother 

about  me.     I'm  afraid  we've  been  a  little  too  sudden  for 

you,  but  wait  just  a  little,  and  you'll  find  things  will  come 

right. 
Marion  :     But  it's  all  so  absurd.     I  don't  understand. 
Physician:    It's  simple  enough  if  you  would  only  remember 

what  I  have  told  you.     You  have  been  out  of  your  mind 

for  some  time,  and  there  is  a  big  gap  in  your  memory. 

That's  all. 
Marion  :     Yes,  but  for  how  long  ? 
Physician:    How  long  was  it  ? — 25  years. 
Marion  :     35  years  ! — I  didn't  know  that  I  was  25  years  old. 
Dale  :         Doctor,  wouldn't  it  be  best  for  her  to  go  away  from 

us  all  for  a  time,  till  she  can  get  used  to  the  change  ? 
Physician:    Yes,  I  daresay. 

Dale  :         She  could  go  down  to  the  seaside  with  nurse. 
Marion  :     Yes,  please  do  let  me  !     I  shall  suffocate,  if  I  stay 

here.   You're  all  telling  me  such  dreadful  things,  and  that 

man  is  pretending  to  be  my  John.     I'm  afraid  of  him. 


74  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

He  can't  be  John.     Doctor,  do  take  me  away  with  you 

quickly. 
Physician:  Could  the  nurse  have  her  things  packed  in  half 

an  hour  ? 
Dale  ;         I  should  think  so. 
Physician:  Very  well.     I'm   going   to    Cape   Town    by   this 

morning's  train.     Send  Mrs.  Dale  and  the  nurse  down 

with  me,  and  I'll  look  after  them  on  the  journey.     She's 

quite  cured  now.     You  needn't  worry  about  her. 
Dale  :         Thanks.     (Stands  apart  with  the  physician,  talking.) 
Jack  :  Mother,  come  and  sit  down.     You'll  get  tired  of 

standing. 
Marion  :     So  you  are  my  son  ? 
Jack  :  Yes,  mother. 

Marion  :     Is  it  true  ? 
Jack :  Perfectly  true,     (Puts   a   stool   at    her  feet)     I'm 

going  to  sit  down  here,  then  I  won't  seem  so  frightfully 

big.     You  look  rather  afraid  of  me,  you  know. 
Marion  :     I  can't  get  used  to  you.     How  can  you  be  my  son  ? 
Jack  :  Well,  I  don't  know,     I  expect  you  will  get  used  to 

me  in  time.     It  is  rather  absurd,  isn't  it  ?     Look  at  the 

size  of  your  hands  compared  to  mine. 
Marion  :     What  were  you  like  when  you  were  a  baby  ? 
Jack  :  Like  other  babies,  I  suppose. 

Marion  :     Oh,  no.     I'm  sure  you  weren't. 
Jack  :  Little  and  red  and  crinkly.     They  say  I  used  to 

cry  a  great  deal. 
Marion  :     Poor  little  thing  !     I  expect  they  used  to  let  pins 

run  into  you,  and  let  your  feet  get  cold,  with  no  mother 

to  look  after  you. 
Jack  :  I  don't  know.     I  can't  remember. 

Physician:  Au  revoir,  Mrs.  Dale.    I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour 

to  fetch  you. 
Marion  :     Thank  you. 
Dale  :         Take  care  of  your  mother,  Jack. 
Jack  :  Right  oh  !     (Exit  Dale  and  the  physician) 

Marion  :     They  call  you  Jack. 
Jack :  Yes. 

Marion  :     I  wanted  you  to  be  called  after  your  father  if  you 

were  a  boy.     John   remembered   that.     And  I  wanted 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  75 

you  to  be  a  boy.  You  know,  I  sewed  all  your  baby 
clothes  for  you,  every  stitch.  It  would  have  been  such 
fun  dressing  you  in  them.     I  wonder  who  did  it  ? 

Jack  :         Some  stupid  old  nurse,  I  suppose. 

Marion  :  I'm  glad  they  called  you  Jack.  But  to  think  that 
I've  missed  all  your  childhood  and  boyhood — and  your 
first  knickerbockers !    Little  boys  are  so  sweet  about  those. 

Jack  :  Oh  !  I  remember  those. — Rather  !  I  was  proud 
of  them. 

Marion  :  I  wonder  who  taught  you  to  say  your  prayers  ? 
and  to  clean  your  teeth  ?  Let  me  see — Oh  !  yes,  they're 
beautifully  white  and  clean. 

Jack  :  You  know,  it's  ripping  to  see  you  looking  intelligent, 
and  talking  like  this. 

Marion  :     What  have  I  been  like  all  this  time  ? 

Jack  :         You  just  sat  still,  not  speaking,  not  seeing  anything. 

Marion  :  And  that's  all  the  mother  you've  known  ?  Poor 
little  boy  ! — and  your  father  ? 

Jack  :  He's  been  awfully  good  to  me.     And  to  you,  too, 

mother.     You  don't  know  how  good  he's  been. 

Marion  :  No,  I  don't.  I'm  sure  I  shall  think  very  highly  of 
him  when  I  get  to  know  him.  But  when  I  last  remember 
— what  seems  yesterday  to  me,  you  know — my  John  was 
so  young  and  strong  and  handsome.  Oh  !  far  better 
looking  than  you  are  now.  And  he's  gone  for  ever. 
I  can't  get  used  to  it. 

(Enter  Dale) 

Dale  :         The  nurse  is  packing  for  you,  Marion. 

Marion  :     Is  she  ? 

Jack  :  Come  along,  father.     Come  and  sit  down  here  and 

talk  to  her.  Mother  and  I  are  great  pals  already,  aren't 
we  ?  (Bending  over  her)  Won't  you  kiss  me  ?  I've 
never  had  a  mother  kiss  me,  you  know. 

Marion  :     (Kissing  him)     My  little  boy  ! 

Jack  :  I  believe  you'll  always  think  of  me  in  long  clothes, 

with  a  tooth  brush  in  my  hand. 

(Goes  to   door.     Marion  glances  at  Dale,  then  rises 
to  her  feet) 

Marion  :     Jack  ! 

Jack  :         Yes,  mother  ? 


76 


WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 


Marion  :     Don't  leave  nie. 

Jack  :  I'm  leaving  you  with  father. 

Marion  :     I  don't  want  to  be  left  with  him.     I  don't  know 

him.     He's  a  stranger. 
Jack  :         Just  for  a  few  minutes,  mother.     Then  I'll  be  back. 
Marion  :     Please  don't  go. 
Dale  :         Better  stay,  Jack. 

Jack  :  Rather  not.     You  two  must  get  to  know  each  other. 

Dale  :         The  nurse  is  packing  your  things,  Marion.     You'll 

be  off  to  Cape  Town  within  the  hour.     Won't  you  stay 

a  few  minutes  with  me  ? 
Marion  :     I  suppose  so.     Don't  be  long.  Jack. — Come  here 

before    you    go.      I    want    to    look   at   you    properly. 

(Putting  her  hand  on  his  shoulders)     Your  eyes  are  grey 

like  mine.     Was  John  pleased  ? 
Dale :         Very. 
Marion  :     (After  looking  round  to  take  this  in)     What  a  funny 

neck-tie.     I  suppose  that's  fashionable  ? 
Jack  :  Rather  !  it's  the  thing. — My  socks  too,  you  see. 

Marion  :     (Laughing)     Oh  ! — very  nice  ! — What  a  big  man 

you  are  !   and  to  think  that  once  you  were  little  enough 

to  lie  in  my  arms.     Did  anybody  ever  put  you  there  ?  .  .  . 

Be  back  again  soon,  Jack. 
Jack  :  Right,  oh.     (He  goes  out) 

Marion  :     (Smiling  with  some  tenderness)     What  a  nice  boy 

he  is  !    he  must  have  been  a  very  sweet  little  boy. 
Dale  :         Yes.     Won't  you  sit  down,  dear  ? 
Marion  :     No,    thank    you.     You   know,    I'm  very  sorry.     I 

suppose  that  you  are  my  husband — but  I  can't  feel  as 

though  you  were.     You're  old  enough  to  be  my  father, 

aren't  you  ? 
Dale  :         I  suppose  so. 
Marion :     I    never   thought   of   that !     I  must    have   grown 

old,  too. 
Dale  :         No.     Your  mind  has    been   resting   all  this  time. 

You  are  a  girl  still. 
Marion  :     Where    is   a   glass  ? 

There  used  to  be  one  over  the  fireplace. 

there's  sure  to  be  one  in  the  bedroom. 


I    want   to 


look  at  myself. 
Never  mind, 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  77 

Dale  :         Don't  bother  about  a  glass,    Marion.     Come  and 

see  the  garden. 
Marion  :     I  must  be  dreadfully  changed  in  25  years. 
Dale  :         You  have  hardly  changed  at  all. 
Marion  :     Then  why  don't  you  want  me  to  look  in  the  glass  ? 
Dale  :         Because  you've  seen  enough  changes  in  one  day. 

You  have  changed  a  little,  of  course.     Your  hair  is  grey  ; 

it  suits  you  wonderfully  well.     And  there  are  one  or  two 

wrinkles.     But  your   eyes   are  just  the  same.     Do  you 

remember  how  1  used  to  kiss  you  on  the  eyelids  ? 
Marion  :     They  can't  be  the  same,  they    must  have  grown 

faded.     I  don't  think  I'll  go  and  see. 
Dale  :         Don't  bother  about  it,  dearest.     You  still  have  the 

sweetest  face  in  all  the  world.     Sit  down,  now.     You 

mustn't  stand  too  long. 

(She  sits.) 
Marion  :     If  I'm  going  away,  I  must  pack. 
Dale  :         The  nurse  is  doing  that  for  you. 
Marion  :     But  she  won't  know  what  to  take. — Oh  !     I  suppose 

she'll  know  better  than    I  do.     (Sits)     Who  chose  this 

dress  ? 
Dale  :         I  have  always  liked  you  in  grey. 
Marion  :     It's  quite  pretty.     But  what  a  strange  new  fashion. 

Tell  me,  what  became  of  the  rest  of  my  trousseau  ?     I 

never  even  wore  some  of  those  dresses. 
Dale  :         I  expect  they  would  seem  a  little   old  fashioned 

now. 
Marion  :     I  suppose  so.     It's  a  lifetime  ago. 

Oh,  dear  !    and  no  one  remembers  how  nice  I  used  to 

look  in  that  lilac  poplin. 
Dale  :         I    do.     I'll    never  forget.      You  wore   it  the   day 

we  went  down  to  your  grandmother's. 
Marion  :     I  believe  you  really  are  John  ! — I  know  I'm  silly, 

but  it  seems  as  though  that  person  who  used  to  be  me  is 

so  dead  and  forgotten. 
Dale  :         So  is  the  person  who  used  to  be  me.     Only  you 

can  remember  me  at  25.     I'm  a  middle  aged  man  to  the 

rest  of  the  world. 
Marion  :     How  old  are  you  ?     Wait,  I  can  tell  you.     25  and 

27.     You  must  be  52  ! — Where  is  the  doctor  taking  me  ? 


78  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

I  suppose  it  doesn't  much  matter. 
Dale  :         Down  to  the  sea.     You  always  liked  that,  didn't 

you  ? 
Marion  :     But  it  can't  be  you  that  sat  beside  me  on  the  pier 

that  time  the  wave  splashed  over  us.     I  can't  believe  it. 
Dale  :         Well,  it  was  you  that  would  insist  on  talking  all  the 

time  I  tried  to  fish. 
Marion  :     (Smiling)  People  shouldn't  fish  on  their  honeymoon. 

I  told   you  that.     John,  what's   that  little   cup  on   the 

mantelpiece  ? 
Dale  :         (Bringing  her  the  cup)    Don't  you  remember  it  ? 
Marion  :     Yes,  it's  the  little  Chinese  cup  I  used  to  say  brought 

me  luck. 
Dale  :         I've  treasured  it  most  carefully.     The  saucer  got 

broken. 
Marion  :     You  remember,  we  drank  out  of  it  together  the  day 

we  were  engaged.     It  didn't  bring  us  any  luck. 
Dale  :         No.     I  think  we  ought  to  smash  it,  don't  you  ? 
Marion  :     Oh,  no.     I  think  it  looks  homelike.    I'm  glad  you've 

kept  it.     Is  there  anything  else  ? 
Dale  :         That  old  clock.     You  remember  ?   it  stood  in  our 

first  little  hall. 
Marion  :     Yes.     It  must  be  very  old  now.     I  wonder  it  still 

goes. 

(She  opens  the  door  of  the  clock  and  stares  at   the 

works,  before  turning  round  to  say  :) 

John  ! — if  it  is  John. 
Dale  :         Yes,  Marion. 
Marion  :     That   was   a  very   sweet  little   house,    wasn't   it, 

where  this  clock  stood  in  the  hall  ? 
Dale  :         I  have  never  cared  about  any  house  since. 
Marion  :     John  !     do   you   remember   all    the   schemes   we 

planned    in    those  days  ?     Have  you  done  any  of   the 

great  things  you  were  going  to  do  ? 
Dale  :         No.     There  has  been  so  little  time. 
Marion  :     In  25  years  !   what  have  you  done  all  this  time  ? 
Dale  :         Just  worked 

Marion  :     Going  down  to  the  office  every  day  ? 
Dale  :         Yes.     (Sitting   beside  her)    Very   few   people   do 

carry  out  the  dreams  of  their  youth,  Marion.     I  have 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  79 

indeed  grown  older  than  you.     I  am  disenchanted  and 
disillusioned — 

Marion  :     But  you  still  think  that  my  eyes  are  bright,  John  ? 

Dale  :         They  are  beautiful  eyes. 

Marion  :  They  are  faded  and  dim,  I  know  they  are.  But 
you  think  they  are  beautiful.  You  can't  be  quite 
disillusioned.  You  may  kiss  me  on  the  eyelids,  if  you 
like. 

(He  kisses  her.     Jack  comes  in.) 

Jack  :  I'm  sorry. 

Marion  :  Here's  Jack  !  John,  isn't  he  big  ?  I  can't  get 
used  to  having  a  son. 

Jack  :  I  think  I  shall  like  having  a  mother.     Look  here. 

I  want  to  show  you  something. 

(Produces  a  photograph.) 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ? 

Marion  :     Who  is  it  ? 

Jack  :  It's  the  girl  I'm  engaged  to.  Phyllis,  her  name  is. 
It's  not  a  good  photograph.  She's  much  prettier  than 
that. 

Marion  :     The  girl  you're  engaged  to  ? 

Jack  :         Yes.     What's  the  matter  ? 

Marion  :     How  old  is  she  ? 

Jack  :  Just  21.     Don't  you  think  her  at  all  pretty  ? 

Marion  :  Yes,  very  pretty.  But  my  son  going  to  be  married. 
John,  isn't  it  dreadful  ?  It  makes  me  almost  a  grand- 
mother ! — Oh  !  there  may  be  babies.  I  should  so  love 
a  baby  to  hold.  It  would  make  up  a  little  for  never 
having  had  you.  She's  very  pretty,  Jack.  But  what 
will  she  be  in  25  years'  time  ? 

Jack  :         What  does  that  matter  ?     We'll  both  be  old  then. 

Dale  :         She's  a  dear  little  girl,  Marion.     You'll  like  her. 

Marion  :  I'm  sure  I'll  like  her.  Don't  mind  what  I  said, 
Jack.  I  havn't  got  used  yet  to  being  one  of  the  last 
generation. 

Jack  :         She'll  be  awfully  glad  to  hear  about  you. 

Marion  :  Will  she  ?  (Looks  at  Dale  standing  apart.)  Jack,  it 
must  have  been  very  sad  for  your  father  to  have  had  me 
like  that  all  these  years,  and  he  growing  old  by  himself. 
It  was  much  worse  than  if  I  had  died.  Have  you  been 
good  to  him  ? 


8o  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

Jack  :  I  don't  know. 

Marion  :     John  ! 

Dale  :         Yes  ? 

Marion  :     Poor   John !     They   will   grow   old   together.     It 

would  have  been  so  different  for   us  if  we  could  have 

grown  old  together,  wouldn't  it  ? 

(The  door  opens,  and  the  physician  enters). 
Physician:   Well,  Mrs.  Dale  :     Are  you  ready  to  come  away 

with  me  ? 
Marion  :     No  ! 

Jack  :  She's  not  quite  ready,  sir.     Won't  you  wait  a  little  ? 

Physician:    No,  I  cannot  wait.     I  have  a  cab  at  the  door.     I 

have  stayed  in  this  place  as  long  as  I  can  endure  it,  and 

I  must  be  on.     Mrs.  Dale,  will  you  get  your  hat  ? 
Marion  :    Why  must  I  go,  John  ? 
Dale  :         Don't  you  think  that  a  change  would  do  you  good  ? 

Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  away  from  us  all  till  you  get 

used  to  what  has  happened  ? 
Marion  :  No,  I  wouldn't. 

Jack  :         You'll  be  much  too  early  for  the  Cape  train,  doctor. 
Physician:    I  cannot  wait  any  longer.     I  must  be  up  and  on. 

Movement ! — that  is  what  one  needs  ;    movement.     You 

had  better  come  with  me,  Mrs.  Dale.     New  scenes  will 

distract  your  eyes. 
Jack  :         You  don't  want  to  go,  do  you,  mother  ?     Stay  here 

with  us.     We'll  make  you  happy,  all  right. 
Marion  :     I  can't  go.     I  can't  leave  John.     Look  how  old  he 

is.     And  time  runs  by  so  quickly,  he  may  soon  be  dead. 
Dale  :         Stay  with  me,  Marion. 
Marion  :     Yes,  I  will. 
Physician:    Stay  if  you  wish,  but  I  must  be  on.     I  will  speak 

to  the  nurse  first.     Come  with  me,  young  man. 
(Jack  and  the  physician  go  out  to  the  right) 
Dale  :         You  are  beginning  to  recognise  me,  Marion.     You 

are  beginning  to  see  in  me  the  John  who  sat  by  your 

side,  under  the  poplars,  all  those  long  years  ago. 
Marion  :     Yes  !    do  yon  remember  that  day  ?     All  the  birds 

were  singing  ! 
Dale  :         You  see,  I  am  not  changed.     It  is  only  my  body 

that  has  grown  old.  and  changed,  and  within  I  am  the 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  8i 

same  John  that  you  used  to  know — and  love.     Just  as 
you  are  the  same  Marion.     Believe  it,  dear 

Marion  :  I  do  believe  it.  I  see  now.  And  it  doesn't  so 
much  matter  since  we've  got  each  other.  But,  oh  !  I  feel 
so  young  inside. 

Dale         So  do  I. 

Marion  :  Do  you  !  Then  we're  the  same  age,  really.  But, 
John,  it  seems  only  yesterday  that  we  were  married,  and 
now  our  son  is  going  to  be  married,  and  we  are  old. 

Dale  :  Not  old,  but  getting  old.  The  years  slip  by  so 
rapidly  that  one  hardly  sees  how  they  go. 

Marion  :     And  we  are  old,  in  a  young  world. 

(The  physician,    stands  unperceived  in  the  doorway, 
bursts  into  a  loud  ironic  peal  of  laughter.) 

Dale  :         How  dare  you  laugh  ? 

Physician:  Nay,  who  are  you  that  dare  to  say  "  dare  "  to  me  ? 
My  age  gives  me  the  right  to  laugh  at  you,  so  doth  my 
knowledge,  and  so  doth  my  torment. 

Marion  :     Who  is  he,  John  ? 

Dale  :         I  don't  know.  A  specialist,  a  wandering  physician — 

Marion  :  No.  He's  something  other  than  that,  something 
more — 

Dale  :         Who  are  you  ? 

Physician:  I  am  the  Wandering  Jew,  condemned  to  wander 
for  ever  through  the  world,  without  hope  of  death, 
because  I  mocked  at  the  Man  they  crucified.  But  do 
not  dare  to  pity  me !  I,  and  my  punishment,  are 
altogether  beyond  the  sphere  of  your  understanding. 
How  old  did  you  say  you  were  ? 

Dale:         Fifty-two. 

Physician:  Fifty-two,  against  a  background  of  eternity? 
And  you  talk  of  age !  Why,  even  I,  with  my  two 
thousand  years,  am  but  a  child  in  His  sight  Whom  I 
have  offended.  You  are  His  babes.  Fifty-two  little 
years  !  Be  thankful  for  your  blank  and  dawning  minds. 
You  are  fools,  all  fools,  you  generations  of  children  that 
slip  past  me.  And  I — I  have  my  doom  to  carry  along 
with  me.     Fare  yon  well. 

(He  goes  out  of  the  street  door.     John  and  Marion 
stand  looking  at  one  another.) 

The  curtain  falls. 


82  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 


MARAH. 


PERSONS  : 

A   WOMAN. 

LOVE. 

THE   OTHER   WOMAN. 

EDWY   (her  little  son). 

DIMPLES 

PIPKIN 

CHUBBY  y     Children. 

BLUE-EYES 

CURLY-BOY 

TWO    ROBINS 

SCENE:     The  interior  of  a  woman's  heart. 

SCENE  :  A  small  bare  chamber  of  rugged  stone,  gloomy 
and  neglected.  In  the  middle  of  the  back  wall  is  a 
stongly-built  door.  The  scanty  furniture  is  roughly 
made,  and  in  keeping  with  the  room  :  a  cupboard  with 
shelves,  a  table,  and  two  chairs.  A  portrait  of  a  man, 
set  curiously  into  the  wall,  hangs  to  the  right  of  the  door. 
In  front,  a  little  to  the  left,  (as  you  look  at  the  room),  a 
woman  sits  beside  the  table,  in  a  very  dejected  attitude. 
Her  dark  dress  is  ragged  and  slovenly  ;  her  hair,  loose 
and  unkempt.  One  of  her  hands,  with  which  she  has 
been  supporting  her  head,  falls  to  the  table.  She  raises 
it,  looks  at  the  dust  which  her  iingers  have  taken  up, 
and  brushes  it  off  with  the  other  hand. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  83 

The  woman  :  Dust,  eveiy\vh(^re  dust.  It  must  be  a  long 
time  since  the  place  was  cleaned  or  cared  for.  What 
does  it  matter,  since  I  do  not  care  ?  I  suppose  that  I 
might  try  to  clean  it  a  little.  But  why  should  I  ?  What's 
the  use  ?     At  least,  I  will  dust  his  portrait. 

(She  picks  up  a  duster  from  the  floor,  goes  to  the 
portrait,  and  dusts  it.) 

It  is  good  for  me  to  recall  your  features  now  and  then. 

It  reminds  me  of  the  fool  1  was.  Oh  !  the  fool  that  you 
made  of  me  ! 

Yes,  I  keep  your  portrait  dusted,  but  I  do  it  with  a 
bitterness  and  hardness  which  even  you  might  feel  if  yon 
could  know.  .  .  .  There  is  nothing  else  in  my  heart  that 
I  need  clean  or  care  for.  You  cleared  everything  out, 
when  you  first  came. 

(She  throws  the  duster  ciown.) 

The  dust  on  the  walls  and  Hoor,  may  lie  there  still.  It 
was  well  watered  with  my  tears  in  the  days  when  I  could 
weep.  (Shivering)  How  cold  it  is  !  Methinks  it  grows 
colder  and  darker  from  day  to  day. 

(She  sits  at  the  table  again.  After  a  moment,  the 
heavy  door  at  the  back  begins  slowly  to  open,  a  light 
shining  into  the  room  through  the  aperture.  As  it  opens, 
it  shows  a  tangle  of  thorny  briars,  and  Love  standing  on 
the  threshold — a  radiant,  winged  young  creature,  in  a 
rose  coloured  garment,  with  a  bright  light  shining  about 
him.) 
Love  :  Won't  you  let  me  come  in  ? 

The  woman  :         Who  are  you  ? 
Love  :  I  am  Love. 

The  woman  :         There's  no  place  for  you  here.     It  was  you 
that  hurt  me. 

(She  shuts  the  door,  and  shoots  a  heavy  bolt,  but  as 
soon  as  she  has  tm^ned  away,  the  door  flies  open.) 
Love  :  It's  no  use  to  lock  me  out.  Bolts  fly  open 

before  me.     But  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I  will  cross 
your  threshold,  for  the  air  of  your  heart  is  too  dank  and 
full  of  hatred.     It  keeps  me  out. 
The  woman  ;         Then  why  do  you  hold  open  my  door  and 
let  this  glaring  light  come  in  ? 


84  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

Love  :  Do  you  not  love  the  light  ?     It  would  drive 

away  your  darkness.     Look  how  radiant  is  the  outside 
world  ! 
The  woman  :         I  know  that  brilliance,  and  how  false  it  is. 
My  own  walls  are  bright  outside. 

Love  ;  I  can  do  nothing  for  you  if  you  will  not  let 

me.  .  .  .  Don't  you  know  that  there  should  be  no  place 
closed  to  me  ?    least  of  all  the  place  where  sorrow  is. 

The  woman  :  Come  in  if  you  wish.  I  remember  that  once 
you  made  rainbows  in  here.  Either  way  it  matters 
nothing.     I  am  grown  too  withered  and  dull  to  care. 

Love  :  But  I  cannot  come  in.  The  air  of  your  room  is 
black,  and  it  hurts  me. 

(He  puts  his  hand  against  the  air  of  her  chamber,  as 
though  it  were  a  solid  substance.) 

The  woman  :  Yes,  I  have  known  all  the  time  that  you 
would  never  come  in  here  again.  And  I  know  whose 
fault  it  is.     I  know  who  broke  your  wings. 

Love  :  You  must  forgive  him. 

The  woman  :  Forgive  !  what  have  I  left  to  forgive  with  ? 
Do  you  see  any  streams  of  mercy  on  this  rugged  floor  ? 
Once  flowers  clustered  there  ;  once  these  walls  were 
lovely  ;  now  they  are  bare  dungeon  stones.  I  remember 
it  as  it  was,  with  windows  open,  breezes  blowing  through, 
and  sunbeams  shining.  He  wrought  this  change.  He 
drove  the  light  away. — Can't  you  understand  ?  There 
is  no  question  of  forgiveness.  He  is  a  blight,  and  I  am 
the  thing  he  blighted  ;  that  is  all. 

Love  :  I  would  bring  you  healing  waters  to  drink 

and  teach  you  to  smile  again. 

The  woman  :  Never,  never.  You  yourself  have  said  that 
you  cannot  come  here.  You  had  better  go  away.  As 
for  him,  I  hate — 

Love  :  Do  not  dare,  in  my  presence,  to  say  that 

word  !     Hate  is  the  foulest  of  any  kind  of  filth. 

The  woman  :  You  could  not  say,  and  neither  could  I, 
which  is  thickest  and  blackest  in  this  heart  of  mine  : 
hatred  or  despair. 

Love  :  Both  are  intolerable  to  me. 

The  woman  :         Then  go.     Leave  me  alone.     In  the  world 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  85 

outside  I  am  bound  to  smile  and  talk  pleasantly  ;  surely, 
in  here,  I  may  be  alone  with  the  emptiness  and  the  dust. 

Love  :  I  would  have  helped  you  !     I  would — 

(He  turns  to  go,  then  suddenly  leans  his  head  against 
the  door  post  and  weeps.) 

The  woman  :  Why  do  you  w^eep  ?  Tears  are  bitter. 
They  make  the  eyes  ache  bitterly. 

(Love  goes  out,  and  the  door  closes  behind  him.) 
He  is  a  pretty  boy.  I  remember  that  I  thought  him 
beautiful  when  I  was  young.  Ah,  well  !  I  must  go  on 
with  my  living.  Life  does  not  stop  because  one  wishes 
it  to  do  so.  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  go  on  ?  ...  I 
think  I  feel  bodily  hunger.     I  must  eat. 

(She  fetches  some  bread,  a  cup,  and  a  jug  of  water 
from  the  cupboard.     As  she  fills  the  cup,  she  says)  : 
I  remember  when  a  spring  gushed  up  from  the  floor  of 
my  cell.     How  the  waters  sparkled  ! 

(She  sits  down,  and  drinks  from  the  cup.) 
This  water  tastes  bitter.  I  wonder  if  it  is  water — or  tears  ? 
There  is  little  savour  in  the  bread,  but  what  savour  is 
there  in  my  life  ?  What  savour  is  there  in  any  life  but 
what  fools  imagine  for  themselves  ?  Surely,  there  must 
be  happiness  somewhere,  or  is  every  human  heart  a  den 
like  this  ?  I  cannot  like  this  bread.  I  think  that  some- 
how the  tears  must  have  got  into  that  as  well.  Yet  I 
cannot  think  why,  for  it's  a  very  long  time  since  I 
have  wept. 

(There  is  a  knock  at  the  door.     She  takes  no  notice  at 
first,  and  the  knock  is  repeated.) 

Who  is  there  ?     Who  knocks  at  my  door  ? 
(The    door   opens,    revealing  a  happy-looking- young 
matron,  leading  a  little  boy  by  the  hand.) 

The  other  woman  :    May  we  come  in  ? 

The  woman  :         His  wife  ! 

The  other  woman  :  (Coming  in)  It's  so  dark  in  here  that  I 
can  hardly  see.  I  can't  even  see  whether  you  look  happy 
or  not.     I  hope  you  are  happy  ? — and  well  ? 

The  woman  :  I  go  on  living.  That  is  all  that  we  should 
ask  for,  isn't  it  ? 

The  other  woman  :    (With  a  soft,  happy  laugh)    How  satirical 


86  WHAT    OF    THE    WIGHT? 

you  are  !     I  love  people  to  be  satirical.     It's  so  quaint. 

The  woman  :         Do  you  want  a  chair  ? 

(She   pulls   another   chair   to    the    table.     The   other 
woman  sits  down.) 

The  other  woman  :  Thank  you  so  much.  What  quaint 
chairs  !  What  a  quaint  little  dwelling  altogether.  I 
suppose  it's  because  you're  artistic  that  you  keep  it  so 
bare  ?  I  like  lots  of  furniture  in  my  heart,  but  then  I'm 
not  artistic,  only  happy. 

(Laughs  again,  and  puts  her  arm  round  the  boy,  who 
nestles  against  her  knee.) 

The  woman  :  (Sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  table)  Are 
you  really  happy  ?  I  don't  know  that  I  believe  in 
happiness. 

The  other  woman  :    Sublimely  happy. 

The  woman  :         It  won't  last. 

The  other  woman  :  Oh,  yes  !  it  will. — (A  Uttle  uneasily)  I 
wish  I  could  see  your  face.  I  wonder  why  it's  so  dark 
in  here  ? 

The  woman  :  I  suppose  it's  very  bright  where  you  come 
from  ? 

The  other  woman  :  Oh  !  it's  so  bright  outside.  Every- 
thing glitters  and  dances  in  the  sunshine.  But  I  can 
understand  that  one  might  like  it  shadowed, — if,  for 
instance,  one's  eyes  ached.     Do  your  eyes  ever  ache  ? 

The  woman  :  Very  often. — But  it  is  not  for  choice  that  I 
dwell  in  darkness.     Someone  darkened  my  life  for  me. 

The  other  woman  :    Oh  ? — I'm  very  sorry. 

The  woman  :         Someone  you  know. 

The  other  woman  :    .    .  .    I  suppose  you  mean  my  husband  ? 

The  woman  :  I  do.  There's  no  need  for  us  to  keep  up 
pretences.     You  know  it  as  well  as  I  do. 

The  other  woman  :  It  was  about  this  I  came  to-day.  You 
see,  I  hoped  you  had  forgotten  and  were  happy,  but  I 
had  a  feeling  that  perhaps  you  still  bore  resentment 
against  him,  and  while  I  felt  this  I  could  not  be  perfectly 
happy.  We  are  so  very  happy,  my  husband  and  I. 
Your  resentment  is  the  only  flaw  in  my  happiness. 
Won't  you  forgive  him  ? 

The  woman  :         I  had  given  up  believing  in  happiness.     It 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  87 

looks  to  me  a  very  wonderful  thing,  so  bright,  and  soft, 

and   strange.     I  would    not  spoil  it  for  you  if  I  could 

help  it — though  it  was  won  at  my  expense.     But  I  do 

not  walk  through  easy  ways,  where  I  can  step  to  the 

right  hand  or  the  left  as  it  pleases  me.     I  am  struggling 

at  the  bottom  of  a  pit,  and  I  must  lie  as  I  fall. 
The  other  woman  :    You  have  a  vivid  fancy  !     I  suppose  it's 

my    fault    that  I  don't  understand  you.     Do  you  mean 

that  you  won't  forgive  my  husband  ? 
The  woman  :         It's  not  in  my  power.     I  have  been  broken 

and  I  can't  mend  myself,  that  is  all. 
The  other  woman  :    Come,  little  Edwy,  it's  time  for  us  to  go. 
(She  gets  to  the  doorway,  then  Edwy  pulls  his  hand 

from  hers.) 
Edwy  :  Mummy,  I  never  said  Doodbye  to  that  lady. 

The  other  woman  :    Say  Goodbye  then. 

(She  waits  in  the  doorway,    The  woman  is  standing 

beside  the  table.     Edwy  goes  up  to  her.) 
Edwy  :  Doodbye  ! 

The  woman  :         Goodbye  1 

Edwy  :  That's  not  the  way  to  say  Doodbye  ? 

The  woman  :         How  do  you  say  Goodbye  ? 
Edwy  :  (Holding  up  his  arms  to  her.)    So  ! 

(An  instant's  pause,  then  The  woman  swoops  down  on 

him  and  crushes  him  in  her  arms,  sobbing  on  his  shoulder. 

The  other  woman  comes  slowly  up  to  her.     Edwy  looks 

frightened.) 
The  woman  :         (Quelling  her  sobs  and  regarding  the  child.) 

Oh  !    he  has  your  eyes  in  his  father's  face.) 
The  other  woman  :  (Hesitatingly)    He's  supposed  to  be 

like  us  both. 
The  woman  :         They  should  be  my  eyes.     He  should  be  my 

child — mine  !    not  yours. 
The  other  woman  :    How  can  you  say  that?     After  all,   I'm 

his  wife. 
The  woman  :         He  wanted  me — once. 

(Drops   her   arms  from    the   child,    who   catches  his 

mother's  hand,  and  pulls  at  it.) 
Edwy:  Come  away,  mummy.    Shehurted  me.    I'm 

frightened.     Let's  go  home. 


88  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT  f 

The  other  woman  :    I'm  coming,  EcKvy. 

The  woman  :  He  made  me  love  him,  he  made  me  wait, 
— and  then  he  married  you. 

The  other  woman  :  It  was  unfortmiate.  I  really  am  most 
sorry.  But  you  see,  I  was  made  for  him,  and  he  for  me, 
so  what  else  could  he  do  ? 

The  woman  :  There  was  a  time  when  he  thought  that  I 
was  made  for  him. 

Edwy  :  (From  doorway)    Mummy,  come  with  me. 

The  other  woman  :    I'm  coming,   Edwy. 

(Turns  to  the  woman.) 

The  woman  :         You  may  have  what  you  came  for. 

The  other  woman  :  You  forgive  him  ?  Oh,  thank  you,  thank 
you.     Will  you  kiss  me  ? 

The  woman  :  It's  tasteless  kissing  a  woman.  Go  home 
and  kiss  him. 

The  other  woman  :  (In  doorway)  You  have  made  me  so 
happy.     Goodbye. 

The  woman  :         Goodbye. 

(Edwy  looks  round  the  doorpost.  His  mother  takes 
his  hand  and  they  go  out.  The  woman  sits  on  the  chair 
and  hides  her  face,  sobliing.  As  the  other  woman  goes 
out,  she  shuts  the  door  behind  her,  but  it  swings  open 
again  immediately.  A  flowering  creeper  is  festooned 
across  the  doorway,  beautifully  framing  a  little  glimpse 
of  woodland.  The  chamber  is  brighter  than  it  was. 
Love  comes  to  the  threshold. 

Love  :  Now  at  last  I  can  come  in,  if  you  will  invite 

me. 

The  woman  :  Yes,  come  in.  His  wife  has  been  here, 
and  has  gone.  Did  you  see  her  ?  She  did  not  under- 
stand at  all.  She  took  my  suffering  for  darkness.  She 
has  no  kind  of  unhappiness  herself. 

Love  :  You  are  richer  than  she. 

The  woman  :         With  my  heart  all  black  and  broken  ? 

Love  :  Hush  !     Wait  ! 

The  woman  :  (Rises  from  her  chair  then  exclaims)  :  You 
have  left  the  door  open. 

Love  :  Hush  !     Do  you  feel  nothing  ? 

The  woman  :         It  is  very  still  in  here. 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  89 

Love  :  Because  I  have  hlled  your  room  with  peace. 

It  is  the  stillest,  most  beautiful  of  all  kinds  of  peace,  but 

it  comes  only  after  desolation. 
The  woman  :         Then  am  I  no  longer  desolate  ? 
Love  :  Taste  of  my  peace,  and  see. 

The  woman  :         I    can    breathe    now,    freely.     And    yet,    1 

hardly  dare  to  breathe,  the  air  is  so  still  and  heavenly. 

Is  that  the  singing  of  birds  that  I  hear  ?   or  of  angels  ? 
Love  :  It  is  a  singing  very  good  for  the  healing  of 

wounds.     Now  take  off  your  outer  garment  of  rags,  and 

I  will  bring  you   one  more   clean  and  seemly,    for  the 

light  is  coming  back  into  your  heart. 

(He  helps  her  off  with  her  outer  garment.     She  waits, 

w^hile  he  goes  through  the  door  and  brings  back  a  plain 

white  robe.     He  helps  her  put  it  on,  and  ties  the  narrow 

girdle  round  her  waist.) 
Love  :  Now  coil   your  hair  together,  and   let  me 

bind  it. 

(She  gathers  it  into  a  coil  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and 

he  ties  it  round  with  a  ribbon.) 
Love  :  See  !    the  first  white  crocus  has  sprung  up 

amongst  your  stones. 

(He  picks  it.) 

Would  you  like  it  ?     It  smells  very  sweet. 
The  woman  :         (Taking  it)     It  is  the  only  one. 
Love  :  It  is  the  lirst. 

The  woman  :         The  scent  is  sweet.     It  smells  of  love.     I 

will  wear  it  in  my  bosom.     But  what  is  there  left  for  me 

to  love  ? 
Love  :  You  ask  that  with  a  whole  world  crying  out 

to  you  for  love  ? 

(He  stretches  our  his  arm,  and  the  posts  of  the  door 

at  the  back  stretch  apart  widely,  showing  a  broad  vista 

of  woodland,  with  children    j)laying  on  the  grass,    and 

amongst    the    Howers  and  trees.       The   woman    stands 

watching  them,  whilst  Love  withdraws  a  little  apart,  into 

the  left-hand  corner  of  the  room.     Some  of  the  children 

become  aware  of  The  woman's    presence.     Dimples,  a 

small  girl,  with  her  hands  full  of  ilowers,  comes  one  step 

into  the  room,  and  stands  staring  at  her.) 


go  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

The  woman  :         What  are  you  playing  with  ? 
Dimples :  Toys. 

(She  comes  to  The  woman  and  gives  her  the  flowers 

without  removing  her  gaze.) 
Pipkin:  (Skipping  into  the  room.)  I've  got  some  toys 

too.     You  can  have  them. 

(He  gives  his  bunch  to  The  woman.) 
The  woman  :         I  thank  you.    But  these  are  flowers,  not  toys. 
Pipkin  :  No,  they're  toys.      We  picked  them  in  the 

wood,  and  we  play  with  them. 
The  woman  :         They  are  beautiful.     How  God  must  love 

little  children,  to  give  them  His  most  exquisite  treasures 

for  playthings. 
Pipkin  :  You  can  have  them. 

(He  runs  back  to  the  others.) 
Dimples  :  I've  hurted  my  hand. 

The  woman  :         Poor  little  girl  ! 

Dimples  :  Are  you  sorry  'cause  I've  hurted  my  hand  ? 

The  woman  .         Yes,  very  sorry. 
Dimples  :  There  isn't  anybody  to  kiss  it. 

The  woman  :         Come,  let  me  kiss  it  to  make  it  well. 

(She  kisses  the   hand,  then  puts  her  arm  round   the 

child  and  kisses  her  cheek.     The  other  children  watch.) 
Dimples  :  Yes,  it's  better  now.     You  see,  we're  only 

children  here,  and  there's  no  one  to  pick  us  up  when  we 

fall,  and  kiss  us  when  we  get  hurted. 
Pipkin  :  (From  the  other  side.)    I've  hmted  my  hand 

too. 
The  vi'oman  :         Let  me  kiss  it — Is  that  better  ? 
Pipkin  :  Yes. — Thank  you. 

Curly-Boy:  Look!    I've  scratched  my  knee.    P'ease  kiss 

it. 

(She  kisses  the  knee.     Chubby  begins  to  cry  loudly.) 
The  woman  :         What's   the    matter  ?     What's   the  matter, 

you  poor  little  fellow  ? 
Chubby  :  I  haven't  hurted  myself  at  all ! 

The  woman  :         But  you  don't  want  to  hurt  yourself,  do  you  ? 
Chubby  :  I  want  you  to  kiss  it  and  make  it  well. 

Dimples  :  No,   he   can't   be  kissed  if  he  hasn't  hurt 

kimself,  can  he  ? 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES.  91 

The  woman  :         Yes,  I  must  kiss  him  to  make  the  pain  in 

his  heart  well.     That  is  the  sorest  kind  of  a  pain. 

(She  kisses  Chubby.     The  other  children  drag  in  some 

boughs  and  greenery,    which  they  pile  together  in  the 

middle  of  the   room.     Others    trail    flowering   creepers 

across  the  heap.     Others  throw  blossoms  over  it.) 
Pipkin  :  We're  making  you  a  seat.     Such  a  nice  one. 

Are  you  glad  'cause  we're  making  you  a  seat  ? 
The  woman  :         I  shall  be  very  glad. 
Blue-Eyes:  That's  nice.     Now  it  will  do  for  her. — Come 

and  sit  down  on  your  seat  ! 
Curly- Boy  :  I  jus'  want  to  put  this  flower  in  the  middle. 

Blue-Eyes  :  No,  it  can't  go  there.     The  seat's  finished. 

Curly-Boy  :  But  I  want  it  to  go  there.     It's    my   best 

flower. 
Blue-Eyes  :  No,  it  can't. 

Curly- Boy  :  Yes,  it  will. 

(He  puts  it  down,     Blue-Eyes  picks  it  up  and  flings 

it  away.) 
Curly- Boy":  I'll  hit  you. 

The  woman  :         Oh,    children  !    don't   quarrel.     There   has 

been  so  much  of  strife  in  this  heart  of  mine.     I  thought 

you  were  going  to  play  happily,  and  make  it  all  bright 

and  pretty  for  me. 
Curly-Boy  :  I  want  to  put  my    flower   there,    and  she 

won't  let  me  ! 
Blue- Eyes  :  Very  well,  you  can  put  it  there. 

(Curly- Boy  picks  it  up  and  puts  it  in  it's  place.) 
Blue- Eyes  :  Now  come  and  sit  on  your  throne. 

(The  woman  sits  on  the  seat,  still  holding  Chubby.) 
Dimples  :  No,  I  want  to  sit  on  your  lap.     You  loved 

me  first. 
The  woman  :         There's  room  for  you,  too.     There's  room 

for  all  of  you.     Children,  my  arms  are  so  empty  !    Crowd 

in  close. 
Dimples  :  Do  you  love  us  ? 

The  woman  :         Yes. 
Blue- Eyes  :  AH  of  us  ? 

The  woman  :         Yes,  all  of  you. 


92  WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT? 

Curly- Boy  :  .  There  hasn't  been  anybody  here  to  love  us 

before.     We  like  it — don't  we,  Pipkin  ? 
Pipkin  :  (Stolidly)     Yes. 

(Two  little  robins  hop  in  from  the  back,  chirping,  and 

take  up  their  stand  on  either  side.) 
Robins  :  Tweet  !  tweet  !  tweet  ! 

Blue-Eyes  :  Robins,  robins  !  come  and  see.     We've  got 

a  mother. 
First  Robin  :  Are  you  a  mother  ! 

The  woman  :         Can't  you  see  how  the  children  nestle  close 

to  me  ?     Would  they  do  that  if  I  were  not  their  mother  ? 
Second  Robin  :     What  a  pity  that  she  has  come  so  late  ! 
First  Robin  :  You  see,  we  have  just    been    burying   the 

Babes  in  the  Wood.     They  were  such  little  things,  and 

they  only  died  because  nobody  wanted  them. 
The  woman  :         How  pitiful. 
Dimples  :  She  wants  us.     She  doesn't  care  how  close 

we  come.     And  she  doesn't  Want  us  to  quarrel,  but  to 

play  goodly.     We  love  her. 

(She  kisses  The  woman.     So  does   Chubby.     So    do 

Pipkin  and  Curly-Boy.) 
First  Robin  :  It  seems  that  she  is  really  their  mother. 

The  woman  :         Of  course  I  am,  for  I  love  them. 
(She  kisses  two  of  them.) 

I  am  a  most  tremendous  mother.     All  things  lonely  and 

desolate  are  my  children. 
Love  :  (Coming  a  little  forward)     Tell    me,    now, 

Woman    with    the   heart    that   I  have   healed,    are   you 

content  ? 
The  woman  :         Yes,  I  am.     Not  satisfied,  but  content. 

Curtain. 


^ 


DATE  DUE 


1 

GAYLORD 

PRINTEOINU-S.A. 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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